December 12th, 1938, Detroit (Patient 667)
Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... Where is Charley with the darn key to open the door!? The padded white room, melted into a dark glow of a haunted house, that as a kid you would refuse or dare your friends to go and come out alive. Even the adults were too afraid, but I wasn't this is where I dwelled. This is where I came up with my best plans, and this, this was my brain. I stroll around my corners, and dead bodies, scratching the paint off the walls, revealing a streak of the soft foam of my room. Knock! Knock! Disrupted I punch the wall, to see what the blazing noise is. Charley bangs on the glass, and gives a bright smile.
“At a girl Charles!” I exchange her, with my mischievous smug.
“Stand back!” Charley detonates an explosive onto the glass window.
Crash! Glass shards, dance around me, hitting me with a tap dance of the broken, and crazed. The pinch of multiple shards of glass, which have become embedded into my skin, sting as if there were bees stinging me over and over again.
“Darn it Charley!” I tweeze out the ingrained shards out of my bleached face, with my long Crimson nails.
“Sorry Beth…” Charley brushed off dust from the explosion.
Now I know the reason, why I’m always hurt; it's because this bimbo can never detonate a bomb right. Ya supposed to blow it up with out saying anthing. The ultimate surprise attack.
“Whatever, let’s get out of here before I go ballistic.” I’m still picking out the blasted remnants from my face.
“But ya already ballistic, Bethany.” She says as we run down the long hallway to the exit.
I step on my brakes, grabbing Charley’s shoulder; making her flip onto the ground. My eyes turn into a dark bloody green.
“Don’t ya ever say that again, understand!” My eye twitches.
“Yes ma’am.” Charley squeaks.
We stop in the place where they keep all the goods, especially my goods; my precious babies. Opening the chest, a smile walks onto my face. I gently pick up my beautiful revolvers. Still the way I left them, blood thirsty, my name engraved onto the sides of its wooden glory, shiny from the dry blood tattooed on the muzzle, and the pipe revved up for an adventure.
Lock and load my revolver, as if I was a teenager again! Finally out of this ratchet place, Charley and I remember our mission: break out, and steal the diamond. We steal a taxi cab, and head to the Museum where our prize is. Stepping out of the taxi unwanted guests stride towards us.
“Hello ladies. Long time no see.” A familiar voice speaks up.
“Brady! What are ya doing here?” I snarl.
“Ah, Bethany looking good as ever…” He puts his hands on my hips.
“Get ya hands off my hips, before I punch you in the lips.” I growl even lower.
“Grab the other one! Oh, come Bethany tell me what you really think of me. Come on give me a hint baby.” A large muscular man puts his arms around Charley, as Brady whispers in my ear.
“Let me tell ya what I think, I think you could use a mint. Take a hint Brady, before I blast ya.” I slap him.
As if an instinct Charley kicks her captor; knocking him unconscious, I punch Brady in the face, before he can strike me. Charley and I start to run.
“Don’t just stand there ya idiots! Get them!” Brady adjusts his jaw.  
As gunshots sound off, Charley and I hide behind an enormous column in the new history museum downtown. I yank out my two revolvers I found when I escaped from Darthshire, while Charley swings out her stainless steel baseball bat, she found lying around when we took out the gang’s guards; we are ready for a war, we just need the right moment, so we hold our breaths.
“Hold your fire men!” Gang leader Brady waves his tattooed arm towards his men.
I scope out Brady, lightly grazing the trigger, my instincts make my finger jerk the trigger. Making Brady slump to his knees, while his team rushing to his aid, we take out the competition. With every gang member crashing down, Charley’s smile widens as if her puddin’ was really here watching her. Charley quit thinking about Cobra already! He doesn’t love ya! He despises ya!
“Charley, snap out of it.” I smack her pale white cheek with the back of one of my revolvers.
Comatose, she lay as if she was dead. Sirens screech in the background. That’s my cue to leave. I struggle to escape with Charley, as I try to go through the back; where our, “get-away car” is supposed to be waiting for us.
“Check the building!” A cop bellows to his coworkers.
Idiots, I romp on the gas in our, “get-away” car. Taking a cup of piping hot coffee, I splash the molten liquid onto Charley’s face.
“Ow! Hey what was that for Bethany!?” She wipes her scalded face, revealing her natural ivory complexion.
“You need to stop thinking about him, and start thinking about our mission for, ‘ya know who.”  I grip the steering wheel with force.
“About the mission, do you have the jewel?” Charley reapplies more make up.
“Of course I did! Do you honestly think I would let you have the responsibility of that!?” I shout.
“Sorry for asking.” Her smile arches down into a pouty childish face.
I know who she is thinking about, I yell at her just the way Cobra did. Cobra is the most feared villain of all time. I loved the way he did his killer move, the “choker”. The choker is where he literally choked someone to death, after they had been brutally beaten. Even though Charley was/and still is in love with Cobra, Cobra favored me highly; not as a partner in crime, but as a lover.
Charley is my best friend; we are the only family we have left, only each other to depend on. Actually scratch that, she depends on me, because I only trust myself.
“Do you think he’s thinking about us in Darthshire?” Charley’s eccentric baby blue eyes, puppy dog mine.
“No.” I choke back tears.
The truth is, I miss him more than my dead grandmother. I slow the car down; the sirens come up behind us. I want my puddin’ back, but I want to lose Charley first. While her head is over her shoulder looking out the back window, I hand cuff her to the steering wheel.
“I have a plan, but it involves ya going back to Darthshire. I will break ya out, I promise.” I lie through my teeth.
“Okay, see ya later then…” Charley starts to sit back innocently.
“Shut up, and listen! When I leave I want you to throw a tantrum. Did ya get that bimbo?” Without an answer or hesitation, I start to walk away.
“Ahhhhh! Don’t leave! Where do you think ya going!? I hate ya!” The car rattles, with enragement.
Going along with my plan I jump into a nearby ditch, to watch my plan to unravel. Success! I watch now that the cops arrive, tranquilize her, and arrest her. As they drive away I laugh, and the others send a search party out for the other culprit: me.
“Hey boys looking for me?” I pop out of the ditch.
“You, stop now!” Target one in place.
I lead my target towards a nearby creek. Looking around for the perfect pin point, I see the perfect trap. As he finally catches up to me, I pin him up against a poison oak.
“Hear the one about the led in the cop’s head, puddin’?” I point my revolver at his temple.
The rookie’s head beads up in sweat, I jerk the trigger. As my boots trample the ground, I look around at the all the tall trees; they cover up the golden sun, which makes at least a billion degrees colder. Walking on a non path of leaves, a tall dark figure stands in my way. I steady my revolver, I shakily lock onto my victim. My hands are shaking in the winter gusts that blow the hairs on my neck until they stand up on my neck and arms.
“Bethany, is that you?” A dark, hoarse voice asks.
“Cobra?” I ask surprisingly, but no answer.
I walk closer to see my dead ex boyfriend, Derek. Impossible he’s dead!
“Derek?” The figure shows Derek bloody, and with no eyes.
“Ah, Bethany dear. Did ya miss me?” Derek smiles, a chilling ruckus toils through my spine.
“Ya suppose to be dead!” Tears glaze my icy cheeks.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I am you idiot!” He slaps me, I feel nothing, but the warm tingle of being hit again.
My mind is playing tricks on me again. This is not Derek; this is a demon from my brain. It’s a painful past I had to leave behind to be with Cobra. To be honest, I hated Derek’s guts for what he did to me. The way hit me with alcoholic bottles of whiskey, and then poured the whiskey onto my face; making it burn like nobodies business. The way he would come home at three In the morning after, being with his gang. He promised to never go back! He promised to change! He's a lying, stealing, terrible person I should of never been with from the start! I should of seen through his stupid dreamy brown eyes, his big muscles that flexed even when he walked... Ugh! As memories flash through my mind like a race car on a track, a slight strand of fury builds up in places I never thought would build up again.
“I hate ya! I hate ya!” With raging enmity I pull out my gun, and start shooting him, as I had done the first time.
I am right; as soon as one bullet hits him he disappears. I throw my head into my hands, as if I am searching for something I trace the scars on my arms, smoothing over the cuts and bruises on my face; I find myself starting to laugh, turning into a maniacal laugh. I fall onto the ground, I curl into a worthless ball of pity. I finally have the strength to stand and brush off the leaves, and dirt.
Another violent jab slithers up my spine, except this time I feel a bit sluggish. My knees collide with the earth beneath me. I hear the sounds of footsteps surrounding me.
“Alright Bethany, you’ve had too much ‘fun’ today. December 12th, patient number 667 is not reacting as well as planned. Okay Bethany, time to come back.” I recognize that voice; that is my therapist, Dr. Strong.
“I… Don’t… Want… To…”  The world darkens around me.
“Bethany, put the pillow down and wake up.”  Dr. Strong motions me, and scribbles down on his stupid yellow note book.
“No! Stay away from me!” Half awake I strangle him.
“Bethany! I’m not the enemy! Guards, we are done with this session.” He chokes on his words.
As the guards peel me off, a sharp needle pierces my skin; this is my end, this is where I go…