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Dec 16, 2025

~Doppelgängers~

A catalogue on the final known days of Orson Marsden. Word Count: 10.9K All art by me

!!!WARNING!!! THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES SUCH AS:

-Graphic Child Abuse -Implied/Mentioned CSA -Drawings and descriptions of gore -Violence -Incomprehensible horrors -Murder -Life with Dissociative Identity Disorder

Orson Marsden was a man- no, a boy, Orson Marsden was a boy who lived what he considered a very isolated life. He was homeschooled, teachers were too concerned with his home life. His boyfriend broke up with him almost a year ago, leaving him alone with the monster that took up their house. He didn’t own any electronics besides the living room TV. There weren’t many kids in the neighborhood, and he barely went out.

If he had to describe himself any further, he was a very feminine boy. His mother and stepfather were obsessive with his masculinity, never allowing him long hair or clothes that were too girly or anything of the sorts. But that never really stopped him. He liked drawing pretty landscapes. He liked drawing girls wandering through fields and escaping through bushes. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to be a girl, but pushed it away. He probably wouldn’t want to be a girl, but he liked the idea of getting to be pretty. He was much much more quiet than the rowdy boys he would see in public. He was a very good kid, he followed his mom closely and minded his manners. Of course, Orson didn’t know how strange that was for a boy, for he didn’t interact with any other children his age.

And…that was all he could really say about his sorry self. He spent most of his days drawing, helping his mom around the house, or lying limply in bed

Or when he decided to focus on him.

His stepfather.

Orson couldn’t really remember how or why the man made his skin crawl with violation when he looked at him or heard his voice through the thin walls. His breathing was heavy like he struggled to get breaths between his fat or was heavily focused on something, if the house was quiet enough you could hear him across the building. He drank and always stunk badly of cheap cologne and beer. He was a very, very angry man. But sometimes, he acted overly friendly, made excuses to brush his hands over Orson or pat his head. But he’d flip on a dime and become very violent, especially when Orson tried to push him away. He’d rather not think about it. It made him feel….really bad. Exposed.

His dark tent helped, a little. It was just a small dark brown blanket with white and pink stars and planets printed into it, tucked between the nightstand next to his bed and the dresser, the third end held up with tape stuck to the corner of the room and the blanket. That end liked to fall a lot, especially if Orson touched it. So he avoided it. It resulted in a dark corner in his small, plain room. Another blanket and a pillow covered the floor for some cushioning. It was cozy.

Orson rested his chin on the pillow tucked into his body as he scribbled on a cheap notebook. His mother wouldn’t buy him a proper sketchbook, drawing was too girly. He did so anyways. He was drawing another girl, this time in the woods. She stared up at something big.

The tall man.

Orson grimaced a little as he sketched him out, his right hand making small, careful movements. He disliked the memory of him

It was sunset. His mother wouldn’t be home until late and his stepfather was still working the nightshift. He decided to go to the park before it got too late. He liked to swing. Of course, if he did it for too long he’d feel really nauseous and wouldn’t feel good for a while. But it was something to do. He was all alone as he walked down the dim street. Then a tall man was in front of him. He wore a sharp suit, and not a feature on his pale, smooth face. So smooth, endlessly smooth, that his head was suddenly filled with static and hurt horribly, making him almost instantly vomit from the agony it threw him into. Something only comparable to what google called a thunderclap headache when he looked into it later. He had never coughed as much as he had in that moment before. He ran away as fast as he could, back to his house.

He didn’t realize his nose was bleeding until the door had been shut.

Orson shook it away and made the girl's expression look more panicked. The girl herself had very short hair, black in color. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans, boots to match. He reached to grab a pen to ink it.

Heavy footsteps came down the hall. He froze up long before his door was shoved open.

“Orson! Get the fuck over here now!” He slurred out

Orson didn’t want to at first- he slammed his notebook shut and scooted away when he heard the approaching footsteps. But all the wants and wishes Orson could’ve made in that moment were shoved aside when the collar of his sweater was grabbed and yanked as hard as it could, riding up halfway and exposing his soft tummy as he was dragged backwards and exposing it to the cold air of the room. The tent came with him, toppling over his face and blinding him until he shoved it off. Orson blinked in the bright light before he found himself staring up at the angry face of his stepfather. He let out a pathetic yelp as he was dropped, a shoe pressing against his stomach in warning, keeping him to the floor.

It felt so wrong…

“I told you to do ALL those fucking chores before I left, and their STILL not done!”

“I-”

Orson didn’t remember being told anything, but what was that worth in a life where things were always missing? He stared dumbly at the angry man

“Well?!?! Say something!”

Orson couldn’t say anything. He was silent, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak, he was ripped up to his feet by his collar

“You useless piece of shit- How many FUCKING times do I need to TELL you?!”

Orson squeaked as he was backhanded hard enough to leave a powerful stinging mark and the split panic of thinking that for a moment, he had been slapped hard enough to break his jaw. He made the mistake of trying to shove his attacker away

“I don’t remember!”

Big mistake.

Orson stumbled as he was shoved backwards, and quickly found their head slammed right into the wall.

And again….

And again…

Their world spun through the dizzy pain, unable to register the screaming right in his face if not for the overwhelming stench of beer. Of course he was drunk… Tears pricked in his eyes and in the haze of possible concussion, he tried to squirm away. Only to be thrown to the ground as hard as he could, before a hard kick easily sent him sliding a few feet. Orson barely weighed 110 pounds, it wasn’t anything really hard to do.

“Never pull that fucking stunt again, or I’ll throw you right out on the street!” He growled at the downed teen before he finally turned away from his victim “Wouldn’t imagine it’d be hard for you to get by, with the way you dress.”

Orson felt sick at that last comment as his door slammed shut again. He laid in painful silence as he curled up and cried through awful, stinging, spinning pain. Hiccuping tears, swallowing his very being in their misery.

And silently, in their head….

Something ripped beyond repair. It was an awful thing to break. A soul sucking shattering of identity. Of course, their brain had been broken before, at a young age, and just as terrible of a sin as this. But this was different. For it would change the very course of their fate.

The world would no longer be the same from here. It wasn’t spoken out loud, or something Orson was aware of.

But deep down, things have been set into motion. What will happen can no longer be stopped, or contained. Orson Marsden would never be the same.

She came to existence when things they shouldn’t remember started coming to light.

It was her job to protect them. They didn’t need to know the awful truth of their infancy, the very things morphing their once complete, tiny, perfect soul into the tattered, shattered shards they had become.

Even if that meant she lived with the haunting terror and violation left behind.

But Orson sat quietly at the table, the same but different than before. She was more aware of what they were than he was. It wasn’t his job. His job was to do the thinking. She was there to absorb all the awful things like a sponge and lock them away from the rest of what little innocence was left. He couldn’t do his job if he had to live with what happened so long ago.

Or, at least, that’s what she told herself.

She hugged her thin body tighter. She jumped a little when Mother began to speak.

“Orson, what do you think about heading to the mountains this weekend? Hm? We’ll take your little cousin and everything and you can show him how to sled! Didn’t you and that- what was his name? Isaiah? Didn’t you and that boy hang out in the snow all the time this time of year? What ever happened to you two? You looked so cute in your matching coats!”

Orson went silent, a terrible feeling welling up inside

Isaiah…

He was pretty, black hair with a red stripe dyed into it, tan skin, always wearing black, hazel eyes that looked at them oh so sweetly when she cried into his arms on the bad days…

She didn’t remember it officially, but he was gone now. She didn’t know when or why, but he was out of their pathetic life for good.

Maybe she was poisonous, from all the toxic she held. And that's why she drove the bad away and only the awful stuck to her obsessively.

“I don’t know, Mama.”

“Oh, well, we’ll have fun without him anyways.”

She just nodded quietly and picked at her lunch. Macaroni. She never did like how Mother made it so watery. She didn’t like it. She raised her fork to take another stab at it.

And the back door opened. She flinched, before becoming frozen with paralyzing, mind consuming fear.

Him.

Nausea crawled up her throat as he stumbled into the house. She pleaded and pleaded to any higher being for him not to come any closer or to talk to her, and was immediately failed by them as that defiling hand gripped her shoulder tightly. Waves of disgust traveled through her.

Filthy…disguisting hands…hurting their body in no way a child should ever go through…

He was speaking to Mother now, in his loud obnoxious beer stained voice, but she couldn’t hear.

Something new was trying to claw its way up front. Something different. Something that was definitely not there before.

Nnononono- she tried to shove that wrestling dizzy fuzziness away. This was for her to handle. This wasn’t for anyone else to cope with. Her last thoughts before being cast aside were ones full of panic. She couldn’t have them reliving this, they didn’t need the distress!! She could handle herself, she-

…

And she was gone.

Suddenly, Orson slaps the hand gripping his shoulder away as hard as he could, anger crossing his face. Something that had never happened before.

“DON’T TOUCH ME, SICKO!”

TWHACK . . . . . .

He saw taking care of their body as a routine task. Make sure they eat, hydrated, not in pain. A process that would almost never change.

Until he came to in the bathroom, staring at their own bloody nose and bruised face

What the…

He touched the red, swelling marks, and winced at the pain. Ow.

Orson grabbed a rag and pressed it firmly against his nose, tilting his head down. He counted to 60 in his head about 3 times before lightening the pressure to check to see if it was still bleeding.

It wasn’t.

He set it down to examine the rest of their body, to check for any more wounds needing attending. Their chest had some awful red marks, ankle was twisted from what was likely a trip or stumble from being shoved, but nothing life threatening. Just painful. After checking to see if the coast was clear, Orson quietly made his way to the kitchen for ice packs. They weren’t going to look anything pretty tomorrow.

“Orson” Their mom suddenly called from behind as he opened the freezer door and he flinched.

He was Orson…right.

He turned around.

“...”

“...okay, grab that icepack and come on. We’re going to the store.”

She was mad. Great. Now he’d figure out what the hell happened earlier to cause such injuries.

He picks up the flexible one and wraps it in a paper towel before holding it against their reddened cheek, following his mom out to the car. Out to the red kia where many of their lectures ended up happening. Why was it always the car…

As soon as the pair was inside the locked walls of the vehicle, and they were pulling away from their tiny house, his mom finally begins to speak

“Now what were you THINKING! Slapping him like that?! I’ve never seen you act so awful!”

Orson was taken aback, to say the least

They….slapped…him.

Either something REALLY bad had happened, or…

…

Honestly, he didn’t know what.

“Orson, I know you hate him. I do too. But you CANNOT act like that! I can’t even defend you, you had no reason to slap him! You initiated that fight all by yourself.”

Fight.

If he wasn’t mistaken…weren’t the ‘fights’ just a 45 year old man wailing on them? He knew they didn’t usually fight back against the beatings.

Orson stared silently, in judgment. He had no response for a while. His mom finally met that stare at the stop sign right before the busy road

“...Oh! Don’t give me that! You and your silent treatment…I don’t know why you get like that after these things happen. Stop it.”

Oh mother…..

She finally turned onto the busy road, away from their awful little house where evil festered and in public where things…

…

People were normal.

It was like stepping into an alien world, as Orson got out of the car and followed his mom into the small grocery store. People didn’t view him with disgust or that really weird look her husband would give him. No, they gave him kind smiles and words, always polite. He knew it was kind of their job, but….

Still, alien.

He just gripped the cart and followed his mom around aimlessly, not paying attention to what she was putting in the cart or what aisle they were in or anything. It wasn’t important information to him. He was enjoying the silent peace. It was mere temporary relief from the abuses of home, so he took his steps slow. He spaced out as he followed his mom, aimlessly and silent. Up until he almost ran into her back as she abruptly stopped to talk to someone

“Orson! Pay attention!”

Orson waved an apology, before his eyes snapped to her audience

Isaiah. He stood by his mothers side as she spoke to his own, hands in his pockets as they usually were. His eyes bore right into Orson, right into those fresh red marks that would later form into ugly bruises.

And he scowled a little. Not at Orson in particular, but the memory of who did them.

He remembered being halfway there when Isaiah had the full truth of their stepfather…

“NONONO!” Orson cried, gripping his sleeve tightly so he wouldn’t leave the bedroom “You’ll just make it worse! Please!”

Isaiah struggled to free himself “I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM- LET ME GO!”

“You don’t know what can your opening-” Hot tears were suddenly pouring out of their eyes and down their cheeks in boiling, shameful marks as he begged “Please!”

Isaiah had paused once Orson- his strong, brave Orson, was sobbing like a child in trouble in front of him. All the fighting anger seemed to leave his body, as he slowly reached out to cup his face which slowly morphed into holding his entire body.

His touch never felt wrong

“...I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

But it was too late, as Orson hicced and sobbed, barely able to breathe. Just the idea of him turning on Isaiah and beating him like he would beat them was too much. Even as he pressed small kisses to his forehead and told him whispers that he was okay and nothing was happening.

Snapping back to reality, Orson finally paid attention to what his mother was saying.

“-You know, we’re going to head up towards the mountains this weekend, Isaiah should come with us! The boys haven’t seen each other in forever!”

“Oh, well-” The older woman (Orson’s mother was quite young when she had him, everyone's parents felt so old compared to his) looked back at Isaiah “If he wants to come! I’m not against it!”

Isaiah didn’t respond.

Orson wished so dearly to protest. But, as always, he said nothing. He never said anything, ever…

“Please let us know! You have my number!”

She grabbed the edge of the cart, pulling Orson with her. As they passed them a final time, Orson locked eyes with Isaiah.

He wouldn’t come. He knew he wouldn’t come. It’d hurt the both of them too much. They hadn’t hung out since breaking up.

He finally tore his gaze away. Isaiah always felt so safe, so inviting, but it wasn’t theirs anymore. Orson was no longer welcome into that shelter he provided. And so, he left.

That would be the last time Orson would ever see Isaiah

They spent about half an hour more in that store before they left with their bags back into the freezing winter air. Orson regretted not bringing a coat as he shivered and placed bags into the trunk. He was more than happy to climb back into the passenger seat and shut the elements out. His mom got back into the car, the heater came back on, and they left. The icepack was warm already, so he didn’t bother to put it back on his bruising face. The drive home was silent.

Orson leaned against the window, looking at the frigid outdoors flying past them.

And he closed his eyes, and subtracted himself out of that space and into that blissful dissociation as places were traded.

Everything in order. Normal, as it should be.

Orson had been tasked with looking for their old snow gear in the garage with their stepfather.

An awful task.

He tried to keep his cool as the older man cursed to himself

He could hear his heavy breathing…..he didn’t like it.

“Goddamnit boy, help me carry this box!”

Orson cautiously approached, feeling his stare as he took hold of the other end of the box. It was heavy, it nearly made him collapse as they moved it. He was more than glad to drop it. Opening it, he found it contained most of the snow stuff

“Oh yay, we found it…”

More close proximity. Yay.

Orson struggled to help carry the storage bin inside, the thing had to weigh at least twice his own weight. He squeaked as he was accidentally squished against the backdoor going up the stairs, before struggling to open it with one hand while supporting the bin with the other.

He was more than relieved to drop it, and turn to hurry away from his stepfather. He just wanted to run back to his room, to hide inside his tent he finally got back up after his mom restocked him with tape.

Only to have his shoulders grabbed, pulling him back. His stomach dropped

“Look at how weak your arms are…really should take you to the gym sometimes…” He breathed down Orson’s ear, running a hand along the length of the limb. An innocent sentence from anyone else. A flimsy excuse to touch coming from him.

He felt sick…

She had snapped to attention immediately as it happened. Thrusting whoever was there before away, she took her role.

Nobody needed to remember but her.

Mother came down the hallway before anything else could be said, a thin veil of protection “Oh, good! You found it!”

“Oh, of course Veronica. I want you and Orson to have fun on your trip..” His grip tightened on her shoulder “Are you sure there’s no room for me?”

Dread creeped up her stomach. No. No. He couldn’t come- he’d-

“Well, it’s just supposed to be me and my sister” Mother quickly repeated her excuse “Ezra’s too young to be left that long without his mom, and I thought Orson could teach him how to sled down the hill since he had to come. Just us and the kids.”

“Hm,” He grunts. Orson hates the way the beer smell puffs into her nostrils. She can’t move away though. His grip is tight and invasive and one wrong move will set him off and there’s another bruise for her. All she can do is allow it to happen.

As it always did….

Her heart pounded faster and faster, wishing for him to just let go as he spoke to Mother. Her skin was crawling with disgust. Hot, burning disgust.

“Now, I don’t want Orson going on NO fucking trip if this house is a mess though-” His grip tightened “You hear me?”

Mother scoffed “That mess is from you!”

Orson silently begged to not be left behind with him. That would just be awful- days upon days all alone trapped with him?

It would happen again.

Suddenly, Orson was shaking and trying not to gag as the adults argued. Too much fear for her tiny body. Vision was going spotty and-

While it wasn’t ripped away from her, it felt more as if someone had stepped in front to protect. To take that responsibility off her shoulders for a brief moment. Telling her she didn’t need to be brave for everyone again, that he would handle it. She tried to stop it, but….well….

Her voice didn’t sound like her own as Orson suddenly ripped away from the older man

“I’m not staying here with you! Mom, don’t leave me here with him!”

Orson only could watch helplessly as their stepfathers face morphed into sudden anger.

“Veronica, haven’t you taught any manners to that boy?! Why am I the only one disciplining him! If it were up to me, I’d have him sent straight to military school first fucking thing”

“Well, I’m sure glad it’s not up to you! Look at yourself, maybe THAT’S why Orson doesn’t want to be alone with you.”

“The fuck are you implying with that?!”

Their weird out-of-body experience continued as she watched their body move towards the front door, watching the adults escalate to a full blown fight. Their stepfather cursed their name over and over.

This wasn’t normal. She tried to snap herself out of this weird out of character behavior, and found herself shoved aside again. Turning against all safety measures, Orson went for the exit. She was trembling, begging to-....she didn’t know what she wanted, really. All she knew was that she just wanted the situation to go away, to run back to their safety net of a tent. They continued walking anyway, no matter her protest (she really should have been used to it, but she wasn’t). Orson walked right out the door and onto the street. Their hoodie did little to protect from the freezing air. Snow barely powdered the ground, leaving small piles of snow littering the grass and sidewalks. What month was it again? February?

Finally, that compression seemed to lighten up as if someone was moving out her way and she finally found her grounding. She made her way to the curb and sat quietly.

This kept happening.

She wracked her head for what possibly was going on. They knew their place. This wasn’t like them at all. Orson wasn’t violent and certainly didn’t cause fights on purpose…

As she stared at cracks in the asphalt, curving and winding, something familiar was buzzing. It slowly swirled her thoughts over and over like a thick cake batter until a huge migraine had formed. It consumed all thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and drown it out. What the hell did she do to cause that?-

She finally casted her gaze up. Across the street, a boy stood, just…

Staring at her.

He had bright pink hair shaved into some kind of mullet, going every which way. His brown eyes seemed to glow under the grey sky. But the most noticeable feature….

Her eyes locked onto the red mark scaring his exposed neck, shaped into a symbol she knew for sure she didn’t know, but was all the more familiar anyways. It was a ugly and bumpy, slightly irritated.

She didn’t know that symbol

Why was it so….

The two stared at each other for what felt like forever, that static, the electricity buzzing through the air and consuming them, becoming stronger by the heartbeat. It felt like Orson’s eyes were trying to shrink back into their skull and their veins were trying to scurry away like scared bunnies. Her migraine was pounding now, and suddenly- something warm began to drip down her face. She glanced at her hands as the drop fell onto them.

Blood. Cherry red blood. It was leaking from their nose freely. She looked back up. The boy still stared blankly. He started to reach his hand up, and-

“Hayden! What did I tell you about running off?” A man suddenly came down the sidewalk, and the boy snapped right out of it. He quickly followed the older man to the car parked on the side of the road, and then- he was gone.

The static disappeared. Only aftershakes of a headache remained. Orson blinked.

What was…

…

She suddenly remembered her bleeding nose and quickly pinched it to stop the downpour of red, rushing towards the door. That looming, fuzzy presence seemed to be gone, leaving her in her own body and own mind as she hurried to get inside. Mother instantly abandoned whatever she was doing (Orson had forgotten now..) to tend to her bleeding child.

Orson helped his mom pack up the trunk of the Kia, bundled up in a thick sweater underneath his winter coat and a blue scarf he’d forgotten the origins of. His mom leaned against the car reading something on her phone as he tried to fit his bag in with the rest of the stuff

“Mom-”

“Aw, Isaiah’s mom just texted me, he’s not coming” She frowned “Isn’t that sad? He-”

“Mama! My bag isn’t fitting!”

“Oh, just put it in the backseat with mine, there’s plenty of room there!” She stuffed her phone into her coat pocket and checked the trunk over before closing it. Orson stuffed his bag into the backseat. He jumped as his stepfather came out the backgate. He shrunk slightly into himself.

“Are you SURE you don’t have room?”

“Oh my god- YES!” His mom looked annoyed now “Hey, why don’t you fix that hole you left in my wall, huh? You're going to get us kicked out of this house!”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Shut up?! Are you serious? I-”

Orson quickly got into the passenger seat, trying to block out the yelling as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it beside him with the other loose junk in the back. They’d be in the car for a while. He turned to search through his bag before finding his notebook, skipping over pages until finding the one he was working on and picking up the pencil he stuck in the spiral spine. He continued working on the mountain he was trying to draw, overcasting a lake. After a while, his mom finally came back to the car, slamming the door behind herself as she got in.

“Are you seriously fucking drawing again?” She glared at him before starting the car angrily. Orson knew not to take offense, she was just mad. But it couldn’t help but sting. He quietly shut the notebook and stared out the window. She’d calm down and give some apology later, and he’d go back to drawing through the car ride.

But this time…

Something was screaming. Throwing themselves at the walls of their filthy cage, wanting to rip her throat out as his world got dizzy. He fought the dissociation off. He needed to focus.

Focus.

“Danielle!” His mom cried, rushing to embrace her sister. Orson lagged behind, retracted into coat as the cold mountain air bit at him. He glanced down at the toddler following his aunt.

Ezra was only about 3 years old, 4 in may. It was a funny age, to be so unknowing of the world, but insist they know anyway. Orson had long grown out of that senseless thought structure. Ezra struggled to keep up with his mother with all the thick coats and scarfs she had him bundled up in. It amused him. He hurried his steps up and by the time he reached the other boy, he nearly fell over into the snow. Orson quickly caught him by the collar

“Watch out! Snows cold”

“Snow!” Ezra repeated back, then bent down to grab a huge armful of snow and toss it. Orson flinched as the spray of broken snow hit him.

“Come on, let’s get away from the road-”

The toddler seemed to activate at the word road like a sleeper agent, attempting to bolt towards it. Orson quickly snatched him, physically carrying him away back towards his aunt.

“Put me down!!”

“Ha, no”

After reunions were out of the way, his aunt followed behind their car to some airbnb they found. Stepping inside the unnaturally clean entranceway put some sense of ease into Orson. He wasn’t here. No yelling, no barging in, nothing. Safety. Orson relaxed a little as he carried his bag inside. Ezra was running around the small living room with some toy he brought. Orson dropped the bag in his and his mother’s room, on the empty bed. A loud thump shook the walls and his aunt was yelling at Ezra. Fun. Orson unzipped his coat as he left to see what had happened.

After spending some time indoors, and an awful hike up a nearby hill, Orson sat at the very top inside an old plastic sled, trying to coax the toddler inside

“Come on! You won’t slip! I’m holding it!”

“It’ll slip!”

“No it won’t!”

They continued back and forth for a while until Orson had to physically get out the sled and hold it in place while Ezra climbed inside. He sighed loudly and got back in. He tried to think if he was so ridiculous as a toddler, and-

…

Shit, he didn’t remember anything from when he was little….his first memory, he was about 8 or 9…that was-

Then the sled was going down the hill, and he quickly burst out his thoughts to hold Ezra as they slid down. The plastic scraped against the snow, vibrating a little from the pressure. They came to a stop at the bottom

“.....Again!!” Ezra cheered

“...Okay”

Numbly, Orson stood back up and started the hike back up the hill. His thoughts were loose and distracted as he went through the motions of going up and down that hill again and again. Everything felt fuzzy and unfocused.

And as he headed back inside, he kept thinking back on it…

Why couldn’t he remember anything from when he was a kid?

It was quite distressing.

This was UNUSUAL!!! FUN!!! Orson let out a screech as it kicked snow around. It sprayed up and he laughed. Did it even wear the coat he saw in that room? Probably not! The mental brakes of its head tried to slam down as he ran around like a maniac, giggling.

“...What has gotten into that boy…” Veronica squinted from the porch, a little baffled as she watched her previously quiet, shy son suddenly become lively and misbehaved. It was completely out of character for him…

Orson flopped on the ground and enjoyed the cold snow against its face as it thought for a moment. Where was he last? He was…Halloween! Yes, yes! It remembered it clearly now. That Veronica let it go outside away from that party pooper (Haha, he knew THAT line well!!) and he spent almost the whole night across town goofing off!! He didn’t quite remember how it would’ve gotten home…but…one moment, smashing people's pumpkins, the next in the cold, wonderful snow. A little funny. Orson shrugged it off and flipped over, starting to make a snow angel. The freezing snow bit into its arms, but it didn’t care all that much. He was having FUN!!!

Until, its fingers became red and hard to move, and its face felt frostbitten. Then he got up and quickly ran for the indoors to warm up then get that coat and maybe a scarf.

Once the deed was done, and Orson found itself bundled up in warmth, he tried to head out that door when Veronica beckoned to it.

“Orson, why don’t you bring Ezra with you? He’s been cooped up all day while you're out there!” She gestured to the tiny next to her-

TINY!!!!!!! Orson loved the tiny!!! It quickly nodded and yoinked him up, trotting right out the door with a smile

“C’mon! Lets….. lets lets lets lets-” It stalled by repeating itself as it peered around for something to do, walking off the small porch.

“Let's do what?” Ezra interrupted

Oh goodness, he talked more than Orson remembered! It only felt like yesterday when he was a little tiny blobby thing Orson wasn’t allowed to play rough with. So sad.

……

Oh, on that note…

He WAS big enough to play rough with now! Orson broke his frozen silence by immediately spinning around before tossing the poor child into a big pile of snow

“LET’S FIGHT!!”

Ezra squealed with excitement before jumping up to attack Orson. It was practically vibrating with excitement as he tried to dodge the child's attacks. He should have been more gentle with its counterattacks, maybe try to not throw him as hard, but oh what could you do! They were having FUN! Orson let out his own shriek as Ezra knocked him into the snow, collapsing into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“OH, THIS IS WONDERFUL!!!”

“You're different than usual!” Ezra looked down at it. He just grinned back widely

“What, what do I do USUALLY?”

No answer. Orson got back up, shaking the snow out of its short, dark blonde hair. It never really liked his hair color, but how much could you REALLY change about that? He quickly stormed its brain for ideas.

“....hmmmm HEY! Let’s try and get on the roof! We can do SO much there!” Orson quickly scurried to the side of the house.

“Are you sure?” Ezra seemed hesitant, but he eventually followed. Orson typically was responsible and someone to trust

At least, APPARENTLY. Not today! Responsibility? What was that? Never heard of her!

“YESSSSS of COURSE I’m sure! When am I not sure of ANYTHING?”

“Well-” Ezra started, but squeaked as Orson plucked him off the ground and set him onto the AC unit. It climbed up with him shortly after, before grabbing the edge of the roof and attempting to climb up. The box was already slippery to begin with, with all the snow. Getting onto the roof was even harder!!! But Orson was amazing and great as always and it managed in the end, as it stood proudly on top of the house with Ezra.

“Look!! The birdies!!” The child chirped, nearly starting to bolt to point at the bird landing in the nearby tree. When his foot slipped, he quickly grasped Orson and clung to its leg. Orson didn’t falter, just observed the bird with a blank expression.

And as a second bird came to roost with it, a wide grin spread to its face. It crouched down and started packing a snowball with the loose snow, nudging for Ezra to do the same. He quickly joined.

“C’mon!! Let’s spook ‘em!!!!”

Orson finished first, and wobbled slightly as he aimed. Unfortunately, his throw missed by 3 feet, falling straight to the ground. He cried out with disappointment and started on a new one as Ezra took a careful step forward and tossed the loose snow towards the birds. It sprayed out due to the nature of its formation, exploding from the force of the throw like sand and falling just a foot or two ahead of Ezra. He giggled and joined Orson in making more.

2 more wasted snowballs later and Orson silently cursed to himself as it made a third, a little more aggressively. The birds chittered to themselves, one preening the other as they puffed up to keep their warmth in the snow. Ezra paused from trying to collect more snow to admire them

“Aww!! Cute!!! Orson, Orson-”

“Oh, who cares!” Orson finished packing the snow in its hands and paused to calculate

If he got a running start…..

Yes, yes! It’d need to stop early, so as to not fall off the roof, but that would do the trick! He chuckled to himself and backed up

“Orson?”

It said nothing, taking off. He found himself having to lift his feet higher to not get stuck in the surprisingly thick snow, nearly tripping a few times. As he approached his target, he tried to slow down as he took aim. He launched the ball of snow and then suddenly its feet no longer had a hold.

Orson was never good at determining distance…

The fall seemed to last minutes, before Orson landed face first in the thick snow below. For a brief moment, it thought it was suffocating with the air being knocked out of its lungs. Then, it took a gasping inhale, and his senses came back with a thump. It turned over, staring up at the cloudy sky as Ezra carefully peered down from the edge

“...Orson?...”

“...owwwww…”

Orson sighed as they packed their things into the trunk again. It was time to go home.

Back to the house. Back to where he was.

He couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread welling up in the pit of his stomach. It had been a lovely time (albeit he strangely could not remember one or two of the days he had been here) without the threat of violence constantly being inflicted. And now, he would be returning back to that hell. No more feeling safe, back to pain and angry words.

He didn’t like the idea of that. Anxiety slowly pooled in his stomach.

As they said their goodbyes, making sure Ezra got an extra big hug from him, the sun began to set from above. At first, it was just orangey, casting a weird mood lighting over watching his aunt's car leave. Then as Orson climbed into the passenger seat silently, the sky grew dimmer. It would be a long drive home, traffic was backed up on the freeway.

At first, he told himself he wouldn’t sleep on the drive home. To be unconscious was to let his guard down, and bad things would happen. He needed to always be on guard, it was- ..was-.....

His eyelids grew heavy, and before he knew it, the void was taking him, but not for long….

The first thing Orson’s senses felt was something wet and cold. He opened his eyes, and found it was mud. Squishy, drying mud caking his skin and face, and the surrounding ground all around the dark forest. It was night. It was nearly impossible to see anything. He slipped a few times trying to pull himself up, scratching his arms on roots. As Orson finally stood, grasping a tree, a quiet whisper echoed from behind.

“Orrrrsonn” It drew out, long and sing-songy. Orson whipped his head around, and at first- couldn’t really see anything. Not until the monster stepped closer and he could see his dyed pink hair and the static was filling his mind. Shaped like a boy, but that thing was no more man than Orson’s worst nightmares. His breath hitched, and like all good prey would, he ran.

Echoing around, the trees tried to cage around him like abandoned whale ribs.. He could hear the thing behind him

“You're sick, Marsden. Like the rest of them. Something terrible planted inside you.” It stated, matter of factly. So sure of itself, as if merely discussing the weather.

Orson nearly slipped turning, and found himself in front of an abandoned funhouse. He breathed hard as he stepped inside, boots crunching on the shattered glass and crushed dreams. He peered into the broken mirrors, terror creeping up his throat as he quickly realized he didn’t see his own reflection looking back. In one mirror, he was a tall boy, with fluffy blue hair and a scarf, with a sword sheathed in his belt. In the next, peering into the unstable surface, he had black hair and a mean expression, short and beat up. He looked to his left to the other side of mirrors, and caught a glimpse of a brunette floating by. Then, after turning and passing a few strange paintings, he saw a colorful, all-to-bright bear grinning right back at him like a crazy person. It kinda hurt to look at, for the colors seemed to practically glow under the darkness of the building. Orson quickly averted his eyes. Approaching more mirrors proved to be too smashed to look through, and he could only see vague shapes and colors.

He finally reached the silently empty center of this maze, to what looked like the inside of a circus tent. A girl with short blonde hair sat on the pedestal in the center, her back facing him. She picked at her white dress as he silently approached.

“...a…are you okay?”

No response. Orson opened his mouth to repeat himself, but quickly snapped it shut when she whipped forward to face, bloody tears dripping from the whites of her eyes as she weeped. She stood, nearly towering over him with her outburst

“Don’t you know what’s been done to us, Leo?!”

“I-..I’m…not Leo…”

“....” She seemed to shrink down, more tears flowing down in angry streaks, as she realized Orson simply just didn’t know. Blood began to ruin her soft, white, lacy dress as it began to run down her thin legs as well. Her shoulders shook twice as a warning before she broke out into a sob. A million hands shot out to grab Orson from behind- reaching, squeezing, violating, harming. He let out a loud scream and kicked out, and the floor broke beneath his feet. The world seemed to melt into a dizzying show of blacklight colors as the lights disappeared.

The hands were gone, broken and defeated, but now Orson couldn’t see more than a foot or two ahead, and he could hear terrible monsters cackling from somewhere distant, howling like a pack of hyenas. The air felt freezing. He slowly picked himself up, finding himself just a little above ankle deep in water. He trudged on, squinting through the black.

Unfortunately, he could hear the beast bounding behind him, rapidly approaching and emitting a loud buzz. Orson barely turned in time before he found himself face to face with the horrible thing. It twisted its possessed limbs in ways it shouldn’t have been able to move them in, contorting like something straight out of the exorcist. It grinned impossibly wide at Orson as it approached, making him back away. This was definitely not human. Something terrible pretending to be one, piloting its body like a puppet.

“What do you want from me!”

“One day, the walls will be closing in….” It cooed “And you’ll see the safety net clear as day. Follow the trees, foul wolf. Or prove yourself the rotting fawn you always were. I know what brews inside you boy.”

It twisted itself upright and suddenly threw him to the watery floor, and ripped his stomach open. Orson let out a shriek that nearly shredded his vocal cords, and the beast’s smile grew too wide for a human to possibly pull off as it reached inside and pulled out rotten organs, oozing with black goo

“You're tainted. Don’t you see it?” It held the meat out, a foul smell emerging akin to something he could only explain as ‘bad’. Nothing you could really compare it to on earth, just bad. Like witnessing every terrible crime humanity has committed in a single scent. It made him feel bad. Once ensuring he had a good whiff of his own guts, It dropped it into the pool of water and simply sat crouched on its knees as while Orson stood up, clutching his organs in the hole it left. It lowered its hooded eyes in a brief scowl, as if bored. Orson held it together for all of three seconds before vomiting with a loud splash.

It was black. Pure black and oily, just like the rest of his insides. It dripped down his forearms like glue, sticking to him. Suddenly, he was drowning in it as the echoes of demons got louder and louder, screaming like the souls of the damned themselves. And that beast- that stupid, looming beast, with its glowing, ripped wound on its neck like some trophy, grinned again like the predator it was. And Orson began to drown.

He snapped his eyes open as the impact from pulling into the driveway jolted him slightly. His body was fully intact and normal colored, and he was returning home. As reality should have been. Just a nightmare. Phew.

However, a feeling of wrong still lingered in Orson's head as the car parked shortly later and he helped bring bags inside. He wasn’t here tonight, probably at the bar again, and the house looked a mess. His mom looked fuming as she put things away, but said nothing and sent her son to bed once everything was out of the car, brushing her hand against his short, dark blonde hair a final time. He headed down the hallway, and opened the door to his room for the first time in days.

The tent was knocked down again.

It was a day of danger. Too much yelling. Since about 4 in the morning, the woman Orson had learned was some kind of mother had been fighting with him.

Only more hatred bubbled more and more inside his head.

How could one man be so self centered? Lying and shoving just to keep his little pinprick of the world as he so wishes?

Disgusting.

Distantly, he heard something metal being thrown. Did he rip the curtains off the office window again? Great. Just great.

When the yelling finally died down for more than half an hour at about 8 or 9, Orson emerged from their little sad, depressing room to sit by the living room window. The room felt dim from the winter light, the sun struggling to peak through the clouds. The house smelt sickly sweet and minty from the candles mother was burning. He was wearing a simple blue sweater over another long sleeve for insulation, with black jeans to match. He didn’t remember where he got it from anymore. He held the crinkled, smudged notebook he found on the nightstand

Art vaguely remembered, he flipped through some of the drawings. All signed by his name, yet they didn’t really feel like..his. Funny. The front door opened, and Orson quickly found that the reason for all that thumping from the outside was their stepfather coming home from wherever he drove off too. A shame that he had to come home, it was finally peaceful for once. Where did mother go?

...Honestly, he didn’t care that much, only about the fact he was here and destroying their life once more.

He also quickly found the back of his head smacked when they had glared for a little too long.

“What are you looking at? Little disrespectful brat, you know your mother is in the wrong. Don’t even try to take her side”

Orson was silent as he walked away. Quiet fury brewed inside.

How dare he hit them. Before he could think twice, he was standing up, notebook falling to the ground. He stepped on it as he approached the older man, leaving a dirty bootprint on the drawing of the girl looking up at that..

Thing.

He turned his head and opened his mouth to yell at Orson, only for a shout of pain to emerge when Orson socked him right in the stupid jaw.

“How DARE you hit me!” Orson’s voice didn’t sound like his own, saying things that weren’t his own “A grown man like you beating on a little kid? How pathetic!”

Orson was going to say more, but was rudely interrupted by being slammed hard enough against the wall to make his head fill with dizziness. Disgusting phlegm was spraying at their face as he yelled, most of his words Orson was unable to comprehend.

…He smelt so strongly of beer. It made him feel sick to the stomach. Orson clenched his jaw with overpowering anger and suddenly kicked their stepfather as hard as he could where he knew it would hurt. He was shoved to the ground as the older man backed up in pain. The table went with Orson, breaking and knocking over the two open candles that once were on top of it right into a dry houseplant he had been neglecting to water. He didn’t really pay attention to the tiny detail, bigger things were at hand.

Orson was suddenly seething with anger like nothing they had ever felt before as he glared up at the other, to the point he was nearly nauseous. A rage built up for years; the final straw breaking. He wanted to be done, there and now. No more of this. They stood once more, eyebrows furrowing together in anger. He shoved the older man to the ground and raised a fist.

Their hand immediately flared with pain, as it connected with an uneven face. Orson kept going anyways, their knuckles wounding more with each punch. He would learn his fucking lesson, Orson did NOT want to be-

He was suddenly being thrown off, and then a hard kick landed into his stomach. Orson groaned in pain, his legs scrambling for stability as he was lifted up by his collar.

“YOU LITTLE CUNT, I SHOULD-”

Orson swung his fist out again to escape, wincing as soreness coursed through his hand. There would be horrible bruising later.

If later came.

He turned his head, and paused as he saw the flames.

Circling the hallway entrance like a ring…heat emitting from the halo like some sick portal to the realm of fire. Orson felt paralysed until a slamming force came back down on them, throwing him to the floor in front of the sweltering flames. Orson quickly rolled to their back, looking up at the heaving, angry face of their stepfather.

This would be the time to quit, on a normal day

“What is WRONG with you?! You little psychopath!”

A foot connected with their nose, blood spurting out in a burst. Orson could taste blood dripping into their maw, thick with iron and loss of life.

This was not a normal day, he decided.

Orson reached to take the abandoned curtain rod left from earlier that morning and pulled themselves up, grunting as the older man tried to shove them again in the middle of his far-away yelling. Orson continued rising up. Then- the rod went over their shoulder, and swung down.

As flames travelled, a loud thump and a scream travelled through the air. Orson barely flinched at the harm he caused. He raised the rod and threw it down again, with another thump. Then, he dropped it, the rapidly heating metal hurting his hands and fell onto his stepfather's chest again, straddling him and punching him again as the world got brighter and brighter with flames. The warmth was painful, sweat forming a thin layer across his forehead. He heard something scraping quickly, lost in violence, to cause the same pain brought onto him for so many days, he should have prepared, but-

A cry of pain shredded through Orson’s throat, as hot metal slammed right into their left eye. He backed into the floor as their stepfather pushed the weapon harder into their face, his arms flailing to try and get rid of the source of misery as he continued to scream.

“GET AWAY! NOW! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE.”

Orson barely noticed the pole disappearing from their wound as he finally knocked it to the floor and away. Their left vision was completely gone, the surrounding nerves screeching with a fiery agony he had never felt before. He could feel blood run down the socket, the liquid cool on their skin compared to the burn. He gripped the curtain rod again, a foreign bloodlust in his remaining eye.

Orson surged forward with strength he didn’t know he had left, aiming for the head. With every fiber of power he could muster, he slammed it down as hard as he could. The thump was wet and the screams were loud. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He brought it down again. With the third-

A loud crack went through the air, and at first Orson thought it was from the ceiling starting to collapse behind his victim but no- blood spilled across the floor, and the next time he brought his weapon down, it landed in something wet and gooey after clipping the edge of the skull. He still kept going, until his arms were crying with sore tiredness and the heat was too much. Orson dropped the weapon finally, heaving in carbon saturated air. Brains were splattered across their clothes and the hardwood floor, blood coating it like a fucked up sort of dipping sauce. What was left of their stepfather's face was a hollow cavity of shattered bone and what was left of a brain, sputtering red liquid similar to a fountain. Orson backed up.

Oh fuck…

He turned again, the sound of sirens faint and the roar of the fire filling their ears as they realized the only exits were blocked by flames.

…

The bathroom window was still open without a screen, from the last time Orson had to tear it out and practically break into his own house to open the door for his mother (or so he had been told).

He bolted for the room, slamming the door shut. It was marginally colder here and full of oxygen, a soothing relief from the disaster zone. As Orson took a moment to fill his lungs with fresh air and replace the smoke, he caught a glance in the mirror.

Blood oozed from an eye that was almost no longer there. The other had a cold, dead look you only see from killers on TV. Blood dripped from him as if he had showered in it.

His breathing almost came to a halt.

Their eye…

….gone…

Barely giving himself time to think, Orson grabbed a small cloth to hold over the bleeding wound and went for the window, shoving bottles that rested there aside to crawl through onto the snowy ground. The window was higher up, but from their memory it wasn’t THAT high! Besides, looking down at the ground right now, it didn’t look so far either. He went to place the first foot on what looked to be nearby ground and then Orson was falling from the height before he could even register.

It seemed to last forever, in free flight as cold air rushed around him, then he tumbled to the ground as all things do with gravity.

Immediately, a loud pop followed as their shoulder suddenly filled with a sharp stabbing pain, as if a million wasps were suddenly attacking it from the inside. Orson hissed in pain, taking a moment before slowly pushing himself up with his good arm and briefly examined the new injury. The shoulder was now misshapen, hanging limp and useless. The cold snow now felt numb on that side.

…

The sirens got louder. Orson got to his feet again, dizzy and wounded. He shivered with the cold, his bruises throbbed with sore pain, and his shoulder screamed as he began to run

The wooden back gate was hard to pry open with one arm, but Orson was little. He didn’t have to pry it open far to squeeze through, allowing it to slam back into place as he darted into the alleyway. His boots thumped against the wet dirt littered with piles of snow as he ran down the pathway. Bright red blood dripped from himself, leaving a small trail behind.

It reminded him of a wounded deer, limping and crying through the woods after escaping a cruel hunter.

But he was no fawn.

Not anymore.

He was a fierce wolf, snarling in the face of his attacker.

And he walks away, triumph in victory.

Or maybe Orson was long dead and this was just a final vision before dying.

Up ahead, at the end of the alley where it should have been the road and sidewalk was a forest. There wasn’t a forest at the end of that alley usually. What was…

Yep. Orson was dying. That was it. He felt sort of at peace, as he came to that conclusion. His soul would finally be at rest. No more hurting.

He slowed his pace as an eerie calm took over his head. Time was no longer a construct, not for the dead. He finally approached the treeline at a brisk walking pace. They echoed back to him, as if…

Someone…

Or something…

Was promising him safety.

But it was very faint, and he would strain to even hear it. Even so, he beckoned closer, before finally crossing the barrier. The sirens grew faint, and soon Orson was enveloped by the darkness.

Case number: 2345654321

Date of Incident: 02/23/20XX

Address of Occurrence: 1404 Long Gore Ave, Lakewood, CO, 80228

Primary Rationale for Medical Examiner Activity: Violent Death (Homicide/Suicide)

Name: X X X

Identified by: Veronica Marsden

Relationship: Spouse

Means Identified by: Appearance, Presumptive

Notes: Insistent about a potential second body. Investigation Currently Underway.

Associated Cases: Missing Case of 15 year old boy, Orson Marsden.

Was this death potentially caused by a second party?: Yes

Relation to Decedent: Stepson

Number of Associated Fatal Injuries: 2

Number of Associated Non-Fatal Injuries: 15

Notes: Potential attacker identified as Orson Marsden, more evidence needed

Witnesses:

Grace Perez, Female, 34, Residing Neighbor Caleb Perez, Male, 36, Residing Neighbor Scott Foster, Male, 52, Residing Neighbor Veronica Marsden, 34, Resident

Relationship of Witness/Person who found Decedent to Decedent: Other (Police Officer)

Actions taken: -Search conducted for missing child Orson Marsden -Missing case filed for Orson Marsden -Body of X X transported to morgue for autopsy -Homeowner Veronica Marsden taken down to station for questioning.

Incident Details:

On February 23rd, 20XX, at about 9:12 am Dispatch received a 911 call from Grace Perez about a neighboring house on fire. Fire cause unknown. During the commotion, police attempted to question the homeowner. The woman, later identified as Veronica Marsden, appeared in extreme distress, citing her husband and 15 year old son were still inside. Firefighters attempted rescue procedures. No one was found. The fire was put out by 10:04 am. After the house was cleared safe for investigators, Body of X X was found located in the hallway, appearing with extreme damage to the skull, which had been smashed repeatedly with a blunt object, a curtain rod found nearby could have possibly been used. Body and weapon were charred in the fire, causing destruction of any usable DNA evidence. The body of Orson Marsden was unable to be located. On scene officers quickly initiated a search. A trail of blood was found by K9 unit ‘Spark’ in the backyard, trailing into the back alleyway. Blood trail travelled to the end of alleyway before abruptly ending on the nearby sidewalk with no further continuation. Upon asking a nearby homeowner for security camera footage, It was found that Orson had never approached the area as previously thought. Police officers and K9 unit searched the area for 4 hours with no sign of Orson being found.

Orson felt as if he had been wandering the woods for days, hiding from strange people who looked mean and wild animals. He had no memory of how he got here, only that everything hurt. As their scabbing eye socket throbbed with another aching pain, he sat on the ground, briefly ignoring the snow melting into his clothes as he closed his eyes.

This was it. This was the end.

Time ticked by as he waited for it to happen. What was dying like? He didn’t know. But, it never came.

For a familiar static began to fill his mind…

Orson cracked his eye open, to see that pink-haired boy approaching in the distance. It got stronger than ever before as he got closer and closer. And this time, there were no barriers between them.

He blinked, and the boy was in front of him, and suddenly Orson’s world looked like a camera slowly having its insides ripped apart, as colors became too bright, and somehow- he had visual tears in his vision. A migraine similar to when he had seen the tall man infected his mind, and then-

His vision nearly went white as an indescribable pain struck his eye socket when the boy crouched down to observe him. He wore a thick black coat and light jeans, and his face scrunched up in confusion as he watched the wounded killer in front of him wince and cry out, unaware of his apparent effect on people. A world of misery had suddenly come upon poor Orson. Hot, veiny, agony. He swore that- just for a moment, he could feel his empty socket swell up as if a balloon was expanding inside. His brain wanted to melt and dry out like wet sand under the desert sun. Visions of the universe’s death and protons ceasing to exist flashed in a brief moment, and he suddenly was filled with terror. This wasn’t something meant for humans to comprehend. Tears welled up like dread as his hearing rang.

Then- the source of this horrible feeling gently reached out, and held Orson's face with both hands. His fingers ghosted towards the wounded eye, observing quietly. After a moment, he spoke ever so gently, a light Irish accent in his voice

“Do you need help?”

The name sounded ever so familiar, despite never having heard it before. He sounded so safe and loving, nothing like his nightmare counterpart. While Orson was rendered unable to speak, he instinctively leaned right into him, like a moth to a lantern. An artist to his muse.

“Come on, let’s go” Hayden helped the other boy up, not even a falter in his step as Orson leaned his body weight on him. All he could do was smile at this dirty, wounded, shell of a boy.

“My name is Hayden Ashford. Welcome to the refuge.”

Orson Marsden was a boy who lived what they considered a very isolated life. They were no longer in any school, for they no longer lived in the same society. They no longer thought about their previous relationships, for they had all died with the monster that took up their house. They didn’t own anything, drifting through the forest.

The people knew what Orson was, and stayed their proper distance. And they did the same.

If they had to describe themselves any further, they were a very feminine boy. They were growing out their hair. They liked how it looked on them. They liked drawing pretty landscapes. They liked drawing houses on fire, and tall men stalking behind themselves. Sometimes, they wondered what it would be like to be normal again. It probably wouldn’t happen, but they liked to think about it nevertheless. They were much much more quiet than the rowdy residents they would see about the refuge. They were a very good kid, they kept to themselves, didn’t get involved with all the illegal activity. Of course, Orson didn’t know how strange that was for a boy, for they didn’t interact with any other children their age.

And that was all they could really say about themselves.

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