This is Episode 4 of American Horror Story season 1.5 - Murder House Revisited. If you haven't already, you should probably read the previous episodes or you may be confused. Check my Profile to find them.


2018 - Four days ago

When Tate came in from helping burn the rubber bondage suit he could hear Nora sobbing all the way from the front room. He hadn't heard her cry like that since Joshua had arrived. Concerned, he followed the sound to the sitting room where he found her. She was seated on the floor next to his fallen treasure box. It looked like she had started to clean up the mess but she'd gotten distracted by a square photo that she held. It was the reason she was crying.

Tate was in his little boy guise; when she saw him approaching she recognized him immediately. She never seemed to have a problem knowing him when he looked like a child. Despite her tears she looked glad to see him and she held a bejeweled hand out to him. He went to her and she shifted her position to make a cradle of space for him to sit in, right in front of her.

"That's my baby," she told him, pointing to the infant in the photo.

The picture was one Tate had looked at many times. It was a sepia-toned one of Dr. Montgomery, his wife and his child. They gazed at the picture for a long, silent moment.

"I miss him so much," she said, choking on the words. "His last moments must have been so awful. Wanting mother and not understanding why she won't come..."

She lapsed into a sobbing fit and hugged Tate close. It made his shoulder wet but he didn't mind. He just petted her soft hair, avoiding the blood from the unhealed wound in the back of her head.

"You have a new baby now, remember?"

She hiccupped and looked at him with hope. "I do?"

He nodded and shoved his stuff back in the box. "We can go see him. He's with the nanny."

Nora mopped her face with her handkerchief. "What's his name? I can't remember his name."

Tate picked up his box then offered a hand to her. She took it daintily though she didn't rely on his help to rise. She floated to her feet.

"His name is Joshua," said Tate. "You know. Like the guy in the bible who made the walls fall down when he yelled."

He led her by the hand upstairs to the nursery where he stopped at the door. Vivien was in there next to the crib, watching the baby while he slept. Tate wouldn't let her see him but she noticed Nora and smiled.

"He's sleeping," she whispered. She beckoned the other woman in.

Nora let go of Tate and grabbed her handkerchief with both hands, her hope growing into raw elation. She drifted over to the crib and looked in. The peace and joy she exhibited then was complete. She reached in and gently stroked the baby's cheek.

"My sweet boy," she whispered. "My perfect little angel."

Tate watched them for a few more moments then he turned away. The emptiness gnawed at him inside, a familiar pain that was hard to block out regardless. He hugged his treasure box, getting his tears on it as he headed off into the shadows alone.

...

░A░m░e░r░i░c░a░n░ ░H░o░r░r░o░r░ ░S░t░o░r░y░

...

1993 - fall

16-year-old Tate liked playing Raiden in his Mortal Kombat video game because the character could throw lightning. He liked Scorpion because he had a hook-whip that could tear out an opponent's middle. But he liked Sub-Zero the best because his Special Move involved decapitating an opponent and pulling out his spine. It was the bloodiest Fatality in the game.

The over-the-top graphics made him and Addie laugh. She wasn't any good at the fighting game but she loved to watch Tate play against the computer. He would fight for hours. Every time he managed a particularly grisly Fatality, they would cheer. Beau didn't get to watch; he was chained up in the attic all the time by then.

Then Lawrence, mom's boyfriend and current owner of Murder House, took the game away. He said it was a 'bad influence'. He thought they might get unhealthy ideas from software that depicted bloodshed. Constance had let him take it. So Tate was stuck back in the house of nightmares without his favorite pastime to distract himself with.

Not that it was all bad. He liked seeing Mrs. Nora again. He had missed her a lot. She had trouble remembering who he was now but he could always find a way to remind her. Apart from her he hated being back in the house. All the other things in it he could do without. Especially Lawrence.

Lawrence. Larry. What a fucking creep he was. Ugly like a bald rat. He was always trying to be friends with Tate. Always acting like there was nothing wrong. Like everything was abso-friggin-lutely normal.

Tate started sneaking out at nights. He didn't have anywhere to go and, without being able to drive, he couldn't go far. But he went. He wandered alleys, mostly. Whenever he went out on the streets a cop invariably found him. He hadn't actually been caught at that point - he was too fast a runner - but he preferred to stay in the shadows.

Then he got a paintball gun.

There were several parks close by that he could get to and he discovered the liberated joy of sneaking through the dark areas at night looking for couples and bums to target. They never saw him coming. Pop-pop. A necking couple were splattered in green paint. Pop-pop-pop. A passed-out homeless lady would wake up very confused the next day, covered in orange paint.

When he eventually got caught after targeting an undercover officer by mistake, his mother had thrown away the paintball gun. Tate had tried to rescue it from the dumpster but she'd broken it to pieces.

Tate had a new toy now, one only he knew about. He'd just started learning how to play with it. It was a semi-automatic handgun. A nice gun show purchase, no questions asked. Ammo was cheap at Wal-Mart. He practiced putting the safety on and taking it off. He'd taken it to the indoor shooting range and tested it a few times but he would need a lot more practice before he was ready to use it for real. He wanted to make sure he could hit what he wanted to aim at.

He sat on the edge of his bed, admiring the gun. He lifted it and looked down the shiny barrel. The weight of the gun felt good in his hand.

"Bang," he said and pulled the gun back like the kick would have done if he'd fired the weapon.

He lowered the gun and clasped it with both hands. He imagined good ol' Larry opening the door and coming in. He lifted the gun again and pointed it at imaginary Larry's head. He imagined the surprise on his face. Would he know it was real? Or would he think it was a toy? Maybe he'd come closer; try to take the gun away.

"Bang," Tate said again.

Imaginary Larry fell to the floor. Imaginary Larry died.

Tate smiled.

...

Halloween night Tate and Addie sat on the couch watching The Hills Have Eyes. Addie was wearing her old Care Bear costume and had her pillow case ready to go. She was five years older than he was but she still wanted to go out trick-or-treating after the movie was over.

"I want to go to Nevada," Tate told her as they watched a deformed man chase after a screaming woman covered in blood. "I want to see the craters. Nuclear blasts are so cool. They're like... man's most potent orgasm. Boom! They're even shaped like dicks."

"I don't like bombs," Addie said. "They... mess up the planet."

Tate gave her a flat look. "So do people. But you like them."

Addie shrugged. "People don't explode."

"Tate, where's your costume?" Constance asked in surprise from the doorway.

Tate folded his arms and stared steadfastly at the television. "I'm wearing it."

He was wearing a black sweater, black jeans and his long black coat. In short, he looked like he did almost every day these days.

Constance was in no mood to put up with his attitude. She had a theater troupe party to get to. "Go put on your costume or you're not goin' trick-or-treatin'," she said as she put on her glittering black widow earrings.

"Maybe I don't want to go," Tate answered back, still staring at the television.

Addie frowned. Tate had never missed trick-or-treat.

Constance came over and turned off the television. Then she moved over to the couch and bent so she could get face to face with her son. He looked at her grudgingly.

"Go put on your costume and take your sister out for trick-or-treat," she said. Her words were deceptively calm but her gaze was deadly.

He knew better than to argue. He slid away from her and off the couch. He went upstairs, his mood growing blacker with each step. He didn't want to go out. He didn't want to wear the stupid baseball costume she'd bought. He didn't even play the stupid sport. He had wanted to go as Ash from Army of Darkness but mama had forbidden it, even without the fake chainsaw arm.

He passed the master bedroom and paused. Larry was in there getting his costume on. Constance and her lover were wearing coordinating red and black devil costumes. They looked stupider than stupid, to Tate. Larry was trying to put on his tie without the aid of a mirror. He had his back to the door.

Tate smiled. Quietly he entered the bedroom. Looking around, he saw a shoehorn on the nearby dresser and grabbed it. Then he carefully crept over to where the man was struggling with his neckwear. Tate grabbed him by the forehead and hauled him backward so he could press the shoehorn to the man's neck, hard.

Larry didn't know it wasn't a knife. He didn't even know who had him. "Don't hurt me!" he squealed.

That made Tate laugh hysterically. He staggered back from the man, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

"That wasn't funny!" Larry said.

Tate stopped laughing but he couldn't stop grinning. "I scared you," he said, quite proud of himself.

Larry saw the shoehorn then and turned away, embarrassed. "You shouldn't try to scare people."

"But I like it," said Tate. "It gets me hard. You know what it's like to get wood. You stick it to my mom often enough."

Larry looked at him in a mixture of disgust and impatience. "I really need to get ready, Tate. Please leave."

Tate rolled his eyes and ambled toward the door. "My mother's dating the devil. This explains so much about my fucked up life." He tossed the shoehorn down on the dresser and left the bedroom.

He went to his room, shut the door and leaned back against it. Then he sagged down to sit on the floor. Then he put his head on his arms. He wanted to stay right there all night. But he knew his mother wouldn't let him. Either that or Addie would come pestering. He looked over at the bed and the stupid baseball costume Constance had put there.

Then he had an idea.

...

"What're you supposed to be?" Addie asked when he finally came downstairs.

Tate grinned. He felt light-headed, detached. Happier than he had in days. "I'm a zombie," he said. "A zombie baseball player."

It hadn't taken much effort to cut the costume to tatters. Several fresh cuts on his wrists had provided the blood. He'd nicked some of his mother's makeup to create the dark circles and bruised lips but the ashen complexion was all-natural, thanks to blood loss. It was even better than his Michael Meyers costume last year.

"Come on," he said to his sister with a sneaky look about. "Let's go trick-or-treat." He didn't want his mother seeing what he did to the costume she paid for.

...


Author's Note:

Welcome back! This episode's theme is family. Can't you just feel the love already?

This time it's not just me rushing. I actually had encouragement so that's why I've already posted this. If I go too fast, feel free to stick a leg out in front of me. Or just ask me to slow down.

So the 2018 dates get a little funny every now and then. Hopefully it's verbose enough to help you sort out when in the timeline stuff is happening. Generally it stays pretty linear so it shouldn't be too hard to follow. I hope? I'd apologize in advance for any emotional scarring this episode may cause but if you've made it this far into Season 1.5, you should already have an idea of what you're getting into by now. Maybe.