Teshi

Don't ask.

A girl died today. They called her Alanis Mickayla Calliope Acacia de Corio, though she wished they wouldn't. She just wanted to be called Teshi.

If you wanted to learn about Teshi's death, you'd have to start at an orphanage in northern Wisconsin.

Walk in and find a woman at a desk; her name was Janet - Mrs. Olson to you. If you caught her on a good day, she'd cock her eyebrows, tighten her lips, straighten her back, and rest her elbows in front of her keyboard, all while keeping her eyes trained on you until you approached; catch her on a bad day and you could expect a dull lecture on oral hygiene and the importance of the Catholic church.

Once you made it past her first impression, you might ask for information on Miss Teshi - though you probably wouldn't get it. If you were smart, you'd immediately ask for Mr. John Staven, the owner of the orphanage. Only then would you make some progress.

Mr. Staven would then lead you on a brief tour of the building, making light comments about the sweet, young, deceased girl from room 12a. After that, he'd lead you to her room, where he'd allow you to look around - granted you didn't ask him about Mrs. Staven.

She disappeared months ago with no leads; the only one who wasn't overtly troubled by her absence was Mr. Staven himself. Teshi, prior to her death, was the only resident to ever learn anything more about the incident - anything of what really happened - which was information she'd hold tight with her final breath.

If you arrived at her room and glanced around, you'd notice a few things; a photo of a dog, a black lab, lying on a lawn, chewing at its leash, a bright-eyed Greek girl curled at its side; a spiral-bound notebook sprawled out on the floor, pages bent and torn, a few ripped from the binding, the rest filled with Dear Diary entries; and lastly, a black scarf tossed nonchalantly in the corner of the room as though fallen from the shoulders of a mentally-challenged, violence-geared, easily-framed girl from across the hall.

Curious, you might ask Mr. Staven about said scarf, and at once his face would darken, his fists would clench, and his voice would catch as he told you about horrible, mean, turn-for-the-worst Marissa who's been taken in for questioning; "such a troubled girl"; "abandoned by her mother"; "seemed innocent enough when I'd taken her in"; "the black clothes and leather gloves should have clued me in"; "it's really my fault Alanis is - dead" - and you, being a sympathetic character, might console the grieving man, ever so blind as to what would never be found as the truth.

From there, Mr. Staven would invite you to stay for dinner, and you, having still shreds of tact, would accept. A phone would then ring and Mr. Staven would leave you to explore alone for the next hour until meal time.

If, for whatever reason, you chose to turn left down the hall, towards the parlor, you would have the pleasure of seeing a stunning young blonde sitting on a couch in tears, wrapped in the arms of a one Josh Milner - star pitcher of Westview High's championship-winning baseball team. The girl, Emily Staven - daughter of John - would be understandably distressed, for she was the one who, as she was preparing for a date with Josh, found young Teshi's mutilated body.

Fighting off glares from her boyfriend, you might question Emily of what exactly she found, and she'd give you - through her sobs and hiccups - a bloody account of multiple stab wounds and green and purple bruises above her left eye. Eventually, you'd catch on to Josh's scowls, however, and politely bid farewell.

Or, perhaps, you would have turned right instead of left. In such a case, you'd come across a solid stairwell leading to the orphanage's attic. Against better judgement, you'd climb the stairwell, and in the dank attic you'd find a delicate little girl playing with a doll in the dark, preferring the creeping solitude above a cheery ground-level atmosphere where she was constantly being picked on by the twins from room 21 - specifically, today, from being knocked into the mud.

There she'd be, singing to herself, brushing her doll's hair, smiling to thoughts of bedtime tales, oblivious to the tragedy which occurred just levels below her. She'd look up at you with innocent eyes and inquire as to your presence, to which you would say "Wrong door" and hastily sneak back down, unable to bear the thought of bringing such sad news to such a joyful, naive soul.

And from there you'd stumble into the only room in the house of any real consequence - the dining hall.

You'd be immediately met with a man in uniform, someone almost too young to fulfill his position of police chief. He'd bar you from the room despite your protests, but to your appeal he would have a quick chat about all that he knew. He'd tell you things like "There's just something wrong with this case," and "I just can't see Miss Torolo killing the girl," and "There has to be something we're not seeing."

You'd want to talk longer, but just that moment Mr. Staven would appear at your side and lead you to the kitchen, where everyone's been eating since the dining halls are "unfit for our company currently." Dinner would be awkward and stilted, and by the time it's over, you'd be glad to finally be leaving, despite no rel breakthrough in the mystery. You'd walk past a grim-faced Mrs. Olson-to-you, and exit the premises. You'd make it to the end of the drive without stopping.

But of course, by that time you'd realize you'd left your jacket inside and you'd go to fetch it. When you'd walk back in, Mrs. Olson would be gone and you'd hear voices coming from the foyer. You'd walk over and halt at the doorway, shocked by what you would hear and see.

"You're the last person I expected to see here." It would be Mr. Staven, talking to someone whom he hadn't in months - his wife. You'd recognize the woman from her photo on the front desk. "What are you doing, Maggie? You're going to get us thrown in jail."

"I'm here because you've gone too far. When we bought this orphanage, we said no more thieving, no more killing; for Emily. Now doing crooked business, hiding away in New York - for me, that's fine. For us. But killing a girl in our own home? In the home our daughter is? She's the one who found the girl, dammit!"

For the next ten minutes, you'd stand frozen as their fight commences, growing more and more heated, and for the life of you you won't be able to figure out how no one is running to see what's the matter. But then the yelling stops. You'd peer around the door frame to find the two making passionate post-fight love, and you'd slowly start to back away so you could run to the too-young police chief and report your findings.

But you'd never make it - you'd bump into a hall table and a lamp would tip off and shatter at your feet, bringing with it the attention of a Mr. Staven who's hands are not strangers to a dead corpse.

So you're better off not doing any of that, not taking the least bit interest when you learn about the young girl's death - because if you did, you'd end up exactly like young Alanis Mickayla Calliope Acacia de Corio, or as she liked to be called: Teshi.