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Rebel

Rebel Hanson – November 3, 1991

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The insect wriggled in my hand, I applied more pressure with my fingertip on its abdomen.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

The enigmatic blood dribbled on the side of my hand. I gazed at the blood, carefully, oh so carefully, as it trickled to the forest floor. Leaves were stained to the color of the insect’s blood. It was a pretty color; I wanted even more of it. More, more! I pushed harder on the insect, grinning until it was squished. The legs twitched a bit until I squished them with my hand. I squatted down and wiped the insect’s remains on my jeans. Sliding my hand through my shaggy brown hair, I grinned that inscrutable grin, and waltzed away to my house of thirteen-years in Minnesota.
Making sure I was unseen, I slid open the doorway and tip toed inside the house. Being ever so quiet, I went to my room at the end of the hallway and slipped inside. I smeared, once more, my bloodied up hand on the whitewash wall. There were other marks, of course, of blood from other insects, including some small animals. I felt like I was on top of it all whenever I took their lives, almost like I was God. The pleasure of knowing that I can beat up anybody, that I can be strong. But also knowing I gave them simple rapture to escape from this cruel world. I licked a bit of the blood that was still left on my fingertips. I slid underneath the covers and made sure that everything was set.

Mother pulled up in the driveway and opened the heavy oak door. She hollered in the house, “Rebel, I’m home!”

I cleared my throat, trying to make it as hoarse as possible, and murmured, “Hi”—I coughed—“Mother…” More coughs came out and Mother rushed to my bedroom.

“I’m so sorry, Rebel. Work at the car department was so hard today, I almost forgot to come home early,” she said. Her blue eyes glinted underneath the skylight. She rubbed my forehead.

“How ya feeling?”

I gave a miserable cough; a weak, pathetic smile slipped on my lips. “I think I’m feeling better.”

“Oh, heavens, no!” cried Mother. “You still have a high temp, and you’re sweating profusely!”

I wiped my forehead, a bit of sweat trickled down my nose. “Oh? Really?” I inquired. I suddenly forced the trick that any mother would suddenly freak out with. I waved my hands in the air, making sure they were limp and pathetic looking. “Mom—wh-where are you? Mom…? Where are you? Mom? Mom, I can’t see!” Of course I’m lying, fool! I have the most perfect vision in the world.

“Rebel! We must go to the doctor!” bellowed Mother, her eyes rimming with tears. “You can die! You’re the only person left in my life other than your father, who is a miserable fool…oh Rebel!”

She sunk by my bed. She’s such an overdramatic woman. I poked her shoulder, making sure she was okay. But then I got those wild ideas. I eyed my pencil, right by the holes in the wall that I left if my father ever abused me or I did something wrong. I always exert my anger by slamming my head on the desk, prodding holes in the white walls, or causing any sort of cruelty to an animal…or even humans. I nimbly grabbed the sharpened pencil and gazed at the sharpness of it. I aimed it by my mother’s head. She was trembling like a lost mutt, drops of tears stained my bedspread. I inhaled a breath and closed my black eyes. I’ve done something bad, I must exert it on something. Mother. I will hurt my mother and she will be okay…no…I will be okay. My thinking was abnormal, I know, but this will be all fantastic—just marvelous—if the consequences will be positive. I licked my lips and aimed the pencil at her, once more. I was about to ram the pencil into her head, when she suddenly moved, mumbling about calling the doctor.

I fell backwards, breathing heavily, onto my flat pillow. I stared at the pencil, narrowed my eyes, and threw it at the wall. How could I? What the hell was I even thinking? It was like some demon possessed me just for those few seconds. I tucked my head into my stomach and thought intensely about the situation that just happened. The only thought that went through my head was: “Why was their joy in me when I was going to do it?” But I also had that strange thought of: “Was I really going to free her from this world?”

***

Plip…plip, plip…drip…drip.

I gazed out of the pane windows as the rain trickled down. It was a normal, ordinary shower that was happening. Mother was going to bring me to Dr. Finnicks today. I’ve never really liked Dr. Finnicks. He twitched at times and gave snorts whenever I asked him questions. He had buckteeth and grizzly white hair. He reminded me of a rabbit turned human. Dr. Finnicks welcomed us to his office.

“So, your name is Rebel, right son?” questioned Dr. Finnicks. He gave a snort and I tried my best to not laugh at how stupid he sounded. Calling me “son”, I mean, how pathetic is that?

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Strange name, huh?” snorted Dr. Finnicks. He brushed his white hair and gave me a smirk.

“My father named me,” I said roughly. My eyebrows furrowed and glared back, my raven eyes going straight through this man.

“Anyways, Rebel, you don’t seem to be sick,” said Dr. Finnicks.

“No high temperature, and you haven’t even coughed once in the last hour despite your mother’s report of coughing making it sound like a whooping cough!” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs; his long white coat swished by the movement.

“Is that all, doctor?” questioned my mother.

“No, I’m sorry, Jeanne, but there is more,” replied Dr. Finnicks. He scratched his head and my mother tightened her grip on her purse.

“R-Rebel has c-cancer?” bawled Mother. Her blue eyes widened and started welling up with tears. “Ohhhhh! DOCTOR!”

My mother was about to race towards me and give me a shower of kisses and hugs (which I’m thankful she didn’t do so), when Dr. Finnicks brought his hand up to silence Mother.

“No, no, Jeanne, it’s something else,” said Dr. Finnicks. He gave me a hard stare and ordered like a sergeant. “Boy…pull up your shirt.”

I nodded my head, despite wanting to scream at the doctor. I pinched the ends of the white undershirt and lifted it upwards. Dr. Finnicks strolled over and prodded my stomach with his pen. I flinched in pain. My mother’s face was pale all over; she could be mistaken for a ghost. I gazed down to the many scars and bruises that enveloped my abdomen.

“Wh-what’s this?” cried Mother. Her hands were trembling and sweat dripped down the sides of her cheeks.

“It seems to be some marks of abuse,” stated Dr. Finnicks. “And look…” He drew up my sleeves of my flannel shirt. More scars and bruises covered the arm. “More abuse…it seems all the abuse is in places where it can be hidden. Jeanne, are you doing this abuse?”
“Oh heavens no!” said Mother. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“Your son seems to say that it’s Gerald who did these wounds to him,” said Dr. Finnicks, his eyes clouded and staring at Mother. “And who is this Gerald?”

“M-my ex-husband,” muttered Mother, her eyes looking away from Dr. Finnicks.

“And where is your ex-husband?” inquired Dr. Finnicks.

“I divorced him two years ago, Rebel goes to his house on some holidays,” replied Mother. She suddenly realized something and put her hands to her pale cheeks. “Oh my, oh my!”

“He’s been abusing Rebel whenever he goes there, it seems,” said Dr. Finnicks. “However, Rebel won’t tell me anything else about the situation. He just said it was his father and shrugged it off. That is all I have to say. Oh, and we’ve done a mental testing on your child, Jeanne…your son is in the early stages of a serial killer. Fix it as soon as possible.” He grunted and didn’t say anything else about how to take away the characteristics of a serial killer. Mother’s lips were quivering in fear and eyed me. I shrugged and blinked a few times before Dr. Finnicks stood up and shook Mother’s hand. “Pleasure to have you and that will be 62 dollars, Jeanne.”

***

Faye Stevens –November 5, 1991

I laid my head against the rough bark of the colossal tree. Caressing the bark, I could feel inside it, inside this huge tree. Its spirit was vibrant and full of glee. The leaves swayed in the light wind and a bright jade leaf fluttered down. I smiled to myself and walked to another tree and did the same process. I don’t know why, but I felt that if I checked every tree in this forest, I know I can call this new place “home”.

I just moved from Oregon to Minnesota this week. Mama needed a new job after she divorced Dad and moved out with me in her custody. Mama said Dad was “cruel, unusual, crazy, and worthless”. I didn’t believe her. Dad taught me the ways of nature and spirits. I had a strong sense of everything around me; I could tell when a squirrel scampered across a dirt road or a tree dying a few miles away by a chainsaw. Dad had this smile that made my heart leap with joy. Mama thought he was insane when he coaxed her about stories of tree spirits, wolf spirits, and the souls of leaves. Then it was all a blur, all I remember was Mama screaming at me for trying to stand up for Dad. She grabbed my hand and yanked me away mumbling something about hippies.
I climbed up the branches of one massive tree and sat on the largest branch. Nestling my head on the trunk, I closed my eyes and tried remembering more of the situation. Nothing. Suddenly, I heard a twitter of a robin. I blinked two times for my eyes to come into focus. A gorgeous crimson robin was perched on the branch. I reached towards the animal, quietly, oh so quietly.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Come here…it’s okay.”

I gave my gentle smile and the bird finally detected me. He hopped towards my hand when I abruptly heard the ringing of a gunshot. Sure enough, I saw the bullet pierce the bird through its wing and flop down to the forest ground. I shrieked in horror and agilely mounted down the tree. I walked lightly to the hard-breathing body and touched it with my forefinger. It twitched and I noticed that only the bird’s wing was injured, but it was heavily bleeding. I ripped a piece of my long sleeve jacket and wrapped it around the wing. I carefully cradled it in my hands and gazed around the site to find the shooter. There was a crack from the bushes.
“Who is it?” I questioned, glancing my emerald eyes to the left and right. A fierce wind brushed against my cheeks as my long chestnut hair whipped in the air. “Who’s there?”

Abruptly, a boy with shaggy brown hair came out of the bushes. He was wearing a worn out scarlet flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He kept on cussing because his flannel shirt was caught to a branch. He flailed his hands, trying to rip off the material, without trying to damage his shirt. Sure enough, he did, and screamed the most horrible cuss word of mankind. His raven eyes suddenly noticed me, cowering with the injured robin.

“You!” he hollered. He pointed his rough hands at me. “What are you doing with my bird?”

“Wha—?” I asked. “That’s not your bird! It’s the forests!”

He sneered and spat on the ground.

“As if!” he retorted. “But you’re holding it as if it’s your own hostage!”

“Feh, as if!” I retorted back. “You’re just a stupid kid.”

“Well…so are you!” he shouted.

“Feh!”

There was silence between us when I suddenly felt the robin awakening to full consciousness. It tried to fly away, but only flopped down again into my hands.

“Were you the shooter?” I inquired.

“Do you think I have a gun with me?” he asked. He brought his hands up as if he was a criminal.

“Oh, sorry,” I replied.

“Say, lemme see that bird,” said the boy. I nodded my head, expecting him to be peaceful with the robin. Handing him the bird, the boy dipped his finger on the blood that was coming out of the wound. He licked it and gave a sinister grin.

“I’m sorry to say, girl, but we’ll have to kill it,” he said suddenly.

“WHAT?” I cried.

“I said we’ll have to kill it,” he said, rolling his raven eyes. “To let it be free…if y’know what I mean.”

“No! NO WAY!” I screamed. I walked towards the boy and pushed him over. He collapsed to the ground, letting the robin free. I swooped my hand underneath the robin and ran as fast as I could from this insane kid.

“IDIOT!” bellowed the boy. “I’m the shooter!”

I dashed away faster when he said that, my eyes were brimming with tears. How cruel can you get to such an innocent thing?

***

Rebel Hanson – March 20, 1992

Mother says she has assigned a “play date” with a new kid. She believes that someday I’ll have a friend. As if! Almost every single kid I met has run away in horror. If I licked my blood, they would scream. If I suggested doing arson on their house, they would run away from me. If I punched them in the stomach and enjoyed seeing how quickly they bruised up, they would whimper and go into a shower of tears. I’m just a loner and I’ll always be.
Mother brought me to a house a block away from ours. It had a periwinkle roof with simple hedges that aligned it. She smiled down at me and bobbed her head. She pushed my back and I walked towards the house. I pressed the doorbell and waited. What shall I do to this kid? Burn their toes? Hm…that would be too easy. While contemplating, a woman looking like she had 24-hour shifts opened the door.

“You Rebel?” she asked, her voice hoarse from smoking.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Okay, Faye will be down soon,” she said.

What? A girl? I’ve never had a “play date” that was a girl. All the others were boys, wimpy or aristocratic ones. Crap, what should I do with this girl? I was interrupted when a girl’s shriek was heard in the background.

“YOU!” she screamed.

I looked up at the stairs and recognized the girl immediately. She was wearing a school football jacket and denim jeans; her chestnut hair was tied up into a ponytail with a white ribbon that cascaded down her back. She was trembling horribly and then I noticed the injured robin on her shoulder.

“You’re that bonehead who was trying to save that robin!” I roared, my raven eyes narrowing.

“Oh, it looks like you’ve met already. Good. Bye Faye,” said her mother dully. She walked away as Faye staggered timidly to me.

“Follow me,” she said suddenly, grabbing my hand and running towards the forest across the street. I looked down at her hand, still squeezing tight around mine. I gazed up at the tall trees and pushed her hand off. The robin twittered on her shoulder at me. I cringed and snorted like Dr. Finnicks.

“Why are we here?” I asked.

“To let Renee free,” replied Faye softly. She pointed at the robin that cooed at her. “I shouldn’t be such a fool and keep the bird as my own. I mean, I don’t want to be a hypocrite…now do I?”
She gave me a sad smile and I grimaced. Depressed looks from girls always killed me. I mean, their faces were always asking for sympathy. Whenever I saw that look, I saw my dear mother, trying to smile when I was young. Mother would kneel by me and hold my pudgy second-grader hands.

“It will be okay, honey,” she would whisper. “Daddy will be better.”

But I knew that Father wouldn’t become better. He would still be that miserable fool who would torment Mother or me. I wanted to free Mother from the suffering and then I looked down at the robin. Its eyes glistened in the March sunlight and I tried to smile just like my mother would. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be a fake.

“Then let your darn bird go,” I said, looking away from her. Faye nodded her head. She strolled to a nearby tree branch and set the bird on it. The bird looked back at Faye and flew away. Faye wiped her sleeve against her emerald eyes. Sniffles were the only thing heard for a few minutes.

“It’s just a bird, Faye,” I said, numbly.

“Yeah, but I haven’t had any friends like Renee,” she said.

“Whaddaya mean that you had no friends?” I asked.

Faye gazed up at me. Her eyes were puffy and drained out. It was as if she saw her own best friend die before her. But it was only a bird, an animal, something that would soon die and flutter away to Heaven.

“Everybody has thought I was weird, no matter what,” she replied, her lips trembling. “I am only crazy about nature and spirits, not humans and school. And look at me, wearing my last junior high school’s jacket on. I’m such a hypocrite and yet I try not to be! Ronald—“

“Rebel,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes.

“I mean, Rebel, have you ever felt lonely before in your life? To be adored by nature, but loathed by humans, people of your own race?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” I said, nodding my head in agreement.

“Wha—? But you shot Renee!” repulsed Faye.

“Indeed I have, but what I do is take away their lives,” I replied back, furrowing my eyebrows. “I take them away from this world of treachery. Away from pollution, starvation, and I wish I could do the same for humans. My mother is always tormented by the world, and I wish almost every human…I mean animal, be freed from all this horror. Most of all, I want to be free.”

“You mean…you want to kill yourself?”

“No, no! Not that wimpy way of ‘oh my life sucks, let me die by pills!’” I said furiously. “But I want to die in a way of pride and dignity. To be known. To be put into the record books as the man who gave freedom and rejoice to everyone in the world!”

“Everyone wants that,” mumbled Faye.

“I know,” I muttered, sitting down on a tree trunk. “But that’s how I feel.”

“C’mon, Rebel, let’s go out into the heart of the woods,” she said. She offered me a hand, but I shook my head and stood up by myself. I’m independent. I’m not going to take her way of friendship. I’m a loner!

We strolled for over an hour, talking about our situations in the world. Faye seems to be a fifteen-year-old who recently moved from Oregon because her mother thought her father was insane. She is also a loner and depends on nature to connect with the world. Faye sensed many things while walking through the woods. She kept on whispering that another tree died or a wolf has recently birthed some pups. I never understood her ability, but I always carefully watched her. I wonder if her father also abused her. I mean you can’t run away from your husband just because they are a nature lover. That’s insane!

While stopping to get a drink from a spring, Faye rolled up her sleeves. I quickly glanced at her arms and also noticed bruises and scratches encircling it. I mentioned it to Faye, asking how she got hurt. She shook her head and said it was from a man that her mother hates. That’s was my conclusion that she was assaulted by her father, the man she loves to be around. She must be tormented all the time, also. I clenched my fist. I so wanted to free this girl from the world’s madness, from males that love to assault defenseless girls. I shouldn’t have any chivalry, but I know a woman shouldn’t be hurt by something like that. She should run away to the Garden of Eden, a place full of nature and one of her wildest dreams. That idea soon was confirmed near sunset.
We were both lying down, the wind going through our hair, when I suddenly got those weird thoughts. These were the same thoughts that I have of my mother. Can’t I just easily free her? I sat up and rubbed my temples, trying to make a secure decision. I felt a light hand touch my shoulder and I looked back to see the nervous face of Faye.

“Faye, don’t you want to be free, just like Renee?” I asked.

“Of course!” replied Fay in a matter-of-fact tone. “Who wouldn’t want to be free? Despite America being called the land of the free, we aren’t free. We’re not as free as the wind, the water, the leaves; everything in nature is free. I wish I could.”

My eyes narrowed and looked at her once more.

“So, you want to be free?” I questioned. I stood up while Faye stared at me wildly. I observed a tree, trying to find a beetle. I finally found one, nestled inside the bark. I quickly grasped it and walked back to where Faye was sitting. “Watch.”

I pushed my finger against the beetle and my maniac side of my mind came out.

“Death, death, death,” I whispered through my teeth. “This is freedom, Faye! I do this to every being I come across. I release them, in my joyous rapture, to have each soul be free.”

The beetle wriggled and eventually died in the palm of my hand.

“Feel death, Faye, feel the freedom in death!” I cried. I handed the squashed beetle into Faye’s trembling hand.

“It’s so cold,” she murmured, her eyes twitching and widening by the second.

“But he’s free!” I persuaded.

“No, he’s not! He’s dead! He’s dead! He’s dead! Cold and his spirit is adrift,” screamed Faye.

“How can you say such a thing, Faye?” I shouted. “Death is freedom! And I’m giving it! You want it, I’ll give it!”

“REBEL!” she shrieked. “You were calm a few minutes ago, what’s with you? Do you have split personalities or what?”

I paused for a second, only to see myself as the monster I was becoming. The demon inside of me was coming out, faster than before. I couldn’t keep it inside me. My “diagnosed” mind of a “serial killer” was approaching. I shook off my sensitive thoughts and rammed my fist into Faye’s forehead. Faye collapsed on the ground, crimson blood dripped from the head wound. I pinned her down with my weight.

“R-rebel,” she stammered. “Freedom, for what? I already have—.”

And before Faye could finish her last sentence, I slammed my fist into her critical head wound. There was silence and I stood up, trembling in fear. I prodded her with my finger. There was no gasp or sound that escaped her lips. I successfully killed her, with my own two hands. I collapsed on my knees, in a daze. I freed a human. I freed her. I freed a girl who was in terror. I clenched the grass on the ground and a tear of sorrow and joy swept down my cheek, settling on Faye’s bloody head. I gazed up and saw the robin, Renee, soaring overhead, probably carrying the soul of Faye to Heaven.

***

EPILOGUE
Rebel Hanson
March 20, 2012

I sat in silence, holding my twenty-third female victim on my lap, blood dribbling down the sides of the woman’s cheek. It was six o’clock. The same time I killed my first victim, Faye Stevens, the day with the first person I connected with. I am now the most wanted serial killer in the nation, giving freedom to those who wish. I have handsomely killed more than twenty people, most of which were female. I freed the girls who were tormented by males. I always went to their funerals and prayed for them on the day they were killed. I’ve become a part of each victim I’ve had, by licking their blood after they died. The only one that I haven’t become a part of was Faye. I give Faye my respects and I hope that someday, I’ll have my freedom too. That day of freedom will be the day I’ll meet Faye and we’ll watch Renee fly below, watching the other tormented souls on Earth. She would then give me a sweet smile and thank me for giving her freedom.

I suddenly heard a car door slam and the alarm from it. The police were here. I quickly grabbed the wrinkled note I had written on a typewriter and pinned it on the victim’s clothing. I escaped successfully from the apartment, watching from a distance of the policemen walking inside. I heard one of them, in a grizzly voice, read out loud my oh-so-special note.

“Greetings Police!
You have successfully found the body of Lain Konich. She asked me, one day, to give her liberty at a California park. She was being prowled by her ex-boyfriend and didn’t know what to do. She was sick of being clutched into the hands of people who didn’t allow her to be free. She is right now, looking down at you (smiling of course), and being carried away in the hands of Faye’s robin. Good night and be careful!
From your neighborly freedom adviser,
Rebel”