Okay, so disclaiming this right now. I don't own American Horror Story or any of the characters you recognize. I do own Elizabeth and anything else not own the show! I HATED the finale because Michael needed a big showdown to die in, not to get run over by a car. I completely understand WHY it went down the way it did, because they couldn't defeat him at full power, but still . . . I hope I do him justice because he's very hard to write for. Also, I blame Cody Fern for making this Christian girl feel sympathy for the anto-Christ, but there it is.

Chapter One

Michael Langdon didn't know what he was supposed to do. Gramma had thrown him out of the house, and he didn't really understand why. Sure, he understood there was something different about him, something other, but she had never said anything to him about it before. She'd never let him know it bothered her, not even when he'd bled all those animals out just to see what would happen. He was innately curious about those things – he wanted to know what their insides looked like. He couldn't do that if they were alive.

And his nannies were all mean, tried to make him do things he didn't want to do, like go to bed before his bed time or eat his vegetables. The last one – the one before he'd woken up bigger – had even dragged him to his room when he hadn't obeyed immediately. He hadn't appreciated it, and she'd been hurting his arm, so he'd killed her.

And the priest his Gramma had called in after his growth spurt had hurt him too. Michael didn't know why, but the words the man had said – chanted almost – had hurt his ears, almost burned them, and he'd lashed out the only way he'd known how. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt anyone . . . he just didn't know any other way.

Until that day, Gramma had helped him by covering up everything he'd done, so what was so different this time? Was it because he'd killed a priest? Why couldn't she just add him to the rose garden she'd been adding to every time his impulses got the better of him? Instead, she had thrown him a jacket and told him to leave the house. She didn't want him anymore. He wasn't her grandson anymore.

Was it because he wasn't in child form anymore? He couldn't help that, he didn't even know how he'd grown overnight. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't his fault.

And he hadn't even had time to grab shoes before running out. In all his confusion and hurt, he had shoved his grandmother into the wall. Rage had taken over and he'd just wanted to hurt her . . . until he hadn't anymore and had realized what he'd been doing. He was aware enough to know that when he was hurt, his mind was overtaken by anger very easily and that was what caused most of the problems, what caused people to be hurt.

Maybe Gramma was hurt too, maybe it had made her angry, and maybe she would want him back later. He could go somewhere else for a few hours and come back after to see if she'd calmed down.

Elizabeth Garnet was coming back from her daily jog when she heard a door slam, which drew her attention to the Langdon house. She was fairly new to the neighborhood, but she knew Constance Langdon enough to do the grocery shopping for her – she got the woman's groceries the same time she got her own. She also knew Michael Langdon, Constance's grandson. He was the one slamming the door.

Even from the distance at which she was standing she could tell he was upset. His shoulders were tense and he was stomping away, but he also seemed at a loss of where to go. She noticed he was barefoot as well and wondered where he was off to.

She continued jogging and keeping an eye on him at the same time. Even though he was old enough to look out for himself, she'd always sensed a . . . youngness . . . about him. She didn't know how to explain it. She'd talked to him before, but he was almost childlike in the things he did and in the way he carried himself. Even now as he was walking away, he looked back as if hoping for something – what, she didn't know.

She'd caught up to him by that point and she was just going to let him carry on, but she noticed him about to step out onto the street and he hadn't bothered looking either way. Maybe he was too upset, she didn't know, but it had obviously slipped his mind, and there was a car coming – speeding – down the street.

She caught him by the back of the jacket he was wearing and yanked him back just in time to pull him back onto the sidewalk. Whoever had been driving the car kept on going and Elizabeth felt a small amount of rage at the recklessness of whoever it had been. Michael could've have been hit because neither he nor the driver had been paying attention.

"What, are you crazy? You're supposed to look both ways! You could've been killed."

"I – I'm sorry. I'm –" Michael stopped speaking, and a sob bubbled up from his chest.

That's when she noticed the tears and his pale features. The blood seemed to have drained from his face – from shock, maybe? She didn't know, but she was sorry for yelling at him. She hoped she hadn't scared him.

She took in his appearance. He was wearing a yellow shirt – the neck of which was soaked through as if he'd wiped tears away with it – jeans, a jacket, but no shoes. Why was he not wearing shoes?

"Oh, hey, I – I didn't mean to startle you. I just – the car and – you were going out into the street. I just grabbed you – it was a reflex. I didn't mean to yell."

All the while, Michael's blue eyes continued to fill with tears that spilled down and she didn't know what to do. It wasn't like she'd spent much time with him before. She had talked to him in passing when she'd dropped groceries off at his house and that was it. Maybe that was the problem . . . Maybe he didn't realize who she was because of how upset he was.

"Michael, you remember me, right?"

"Miss Elizabeth," he said automatically. "You bring our food."

"Right, good."

She still didn't know what to do. Michael's tears seemed to be coming from fear and sadness, and she didn't know how to help him.

"Michael, what's wrong?" When he didn't respond to her question she said, "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

He yanked himself away from her and shouted, "I'm what's wrong! I'm not – not her grandson anymore. She doesn't want me."

Elizabeth was sure she'd heard wrong. Constance couldn't have just disowned Michael, it didn't make sense. She was new to town and didn't know anyone very well, but Michael was at least fifteen. Why take care of him all these years just to turn him away now?

"I'm sure that's not true," she said.

"It's what she said!"

This just seemed to make Michael more upset, and the only thing Elizabeth could think to do was go talk to Constance herself. She would, however, wait until Michael was feeling better.

"Michael, would you like to come with me? Just for a little while? You know I live just down the street, we can walk there. We'll come back later to see if she changed her mind, okay?"

"I don't know. She was really mad." He looked down at his bare feet. "I did a not so good thing . . . a lot of not so good things. But I – I promised I wouldn't do it again."

Elizabeth was tempted to ask what he'd done, but it was really none of her business, so she didn't. She just slowly put her hand on his back to make him start moving in the direction of her house. She was relieved when he let her lead him there.

Michael had never been in Miss Elizabeth's house before, but he did know where she lived. Her house wasn't as big as his. One level with a basement. The house was clean but obviously lived in. There was a warmth there that was always missing from his house.

The first thing Michael noticed was the pictures on the wall. He assumed they were of family members, but he couldn't be sure. It made the most sense, though, because there was a man and a woman, Miss Elizabeth, and a younger girl – a sister maybe.

"You can sit if you want," Elizabeth said and guided him to the brown leather couch set against the wall in the center of the room. There was a small wooden table in front of the couch. It had coasters set on it, and the remotes for the TV and DVD player, which were on the other side of the room on an entertainment center.

There were two armchairs, one of either side of the couch. He sat on one of those instead of the couch.

Michael had stopped crying on their walk there, but his body was tired and shaking now. It had finally sunk in that he had almost been run over by a car and that if Miss Elizabeth hadn't been there, he would probably be dead, or in so much pain he'd wish for death. He was having what he was almost positive was an adrenaline crash. He was exhausted all of a sudden.

"You saved my life," Michael said as Elizabeth sat on the side of the sofa closest to him.

"Well . . ." She seemed a little uncomfortable with that statement, as if she didn't know what to say after that.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She gave a small smile. "Some people don't know how to drive."

Michael didn't really know what to do or say either. Having never been to her house, he was a little nervous about doing anything to mess something up. All he knew was what little his Gramma had found out from talking to her when she dropped the groceries off, which was that she was new to town. She'd moved there after he'd gotten bigger and didn't know anything about him growing up overnight.

He also knew that she was a nice person. After pulling him back onto the sidewalk she could've just left him there, but she hadn't. She'd brought him with her and was being kind to him. She also seemed to think that his Gramma would take him back. She just needed to calm down a little bit.

He hoped she was right.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I have some leftover pizza from yesterday that I can heat up for us."

"Cold pizza is better," he insisted.

She laughed. "I actually like mine cold too, but I was just trying to be polite."

Michael tried to get up and follow her into the kitchen, but his legs were wobbly and didn't want to work right.

"I've got it," she said and glanced at the remotes. "You can watch TV. Pick a movie and then after that we'll go see about your grandma, okay?"

"I – okay."

While she was in the kitchen Michael began flipping through the channels and settled on Tom and Jerry when he found it. It wasn't a movie, but it was something he liked. He hoped Elizabeth wouldn't mind watching it; she had told him to pick something.

She didn't say anything when she came back in the room. She just handed him a plate with two pieces of pizza on it and placed her own on the table in front of the couch.

"What would you like to drink? There's soda, water, tea . . ."

"Do you have milk?"

"Sure," she said, and smiled sweetly. "Coming right up."

That was how they spent the next hour – eating pizza and watching cartoons. Michael eventually started drifting off and Miss Elizabeth told him to take the couch, so he did. He was out in minutes.

The first thing Elizabeth did once Michael was asleep was call Constance. There was an answer right away.

"Langdon residence."

"Hi, uh, Ms. Langdon? This is Elizabeth, from down the street."

She hated how uncertain she sounded, but the situation she was in wasn't a normal one. Nothing was certain about it.

"Yes."

"Um, I was out jogging earlier and ran into Michael. He seems to be of the opinion that you've kicked him out of the house."

"That's because I have."

Elizabeth's hand tightened around her phone. So Michael hadn't been overreacting.

"You can't just throw him out. He's a kid, where's he supposed to go?"

Michael appeared to be about four or five years younger than she was, and she was twenty. What was he supposed to do for food? Where was he supposed to spend the night?

"He's not a child, he's not my grandson."

"What do you mean? What did he do that was so bad?"

There was silence for a few seconds on the other side and then Constance asked, "Is he there with you?"

"He's asleep. He was upset, so I brought him home with me. He ate some pizza and pretty much passed out from exhaustion."

"You need to get him out of your house. He's dangerous."

"Michael? He's been as good as can be from the moment we walked in the door."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

The thing was that Constance sounded genuinely concerned for her. So . . . what if Michael had done something that had warranted being thrown out of his house?

"Why don't you tell me, then?"

"You won't believe me, not if I tell you over the phone. If he's asleep, he'll be out for hours. Come over and you'll see."

"I can't just leave him here."

"He's a heavy sleeper, especially after throwing a tantrum."

Throwing a tantrum? He'd been upset, sure, but Elizabeth felt he had a right to have been. Still, she didn't have all the information about what had happened, so she couldn't really judge.

"I'll be there in a few minutes. I can't stay long. I don't want Michael waking up alone."

She hung up without saying goodbye and took another look at Michael before deciding she really needed to talk to his grandmother. It wasn't like she could just keep him there with her – she wasn't family and couldn't legally care for him.

She left the house, locking the door behind her, and was at Constance's house within a few moments. There was an unfamiliar car parked out front and she wondered why Constance would invite her over when she had guests. It wasn't like they could talk freely if someone else was there.

She knocked anyway and was let in by Constance. Elizabeth followed her in and was led to the kitchen, where another girl was seated at the table, a steaming cup of something in front of her. The girl appeared a little older than Elizabeth, but there was a serenity about her that Elizabeth didn't know how to take.

"Elizabeth, this is Mallory. Mallory, this is the girl who . . . foiled your plans."

Elizabeth had no clue what Constance was talking about. She couldn't have foiled this girl's plans. She didn't know her from Eve.

Mallory stood up then, a small, sad smile playing across her lips.

"You pulled him out of the way," the girl said.

"What?"

"You pulled him out of the way. He was supposed to die."

What the actual hell? Was she talking about Michael? He was the only one she could be talking about . . . but . . . had this girl and Constance planned to have Michael run over? And Constance had had the audacity to call Michael dangerous. He was her grandson! She was supposed to love him and take care of him, not plot to have him killed.

"I'm sorry?"

Maybe she was reading everything wrong.

"I know it's hard to understand, but Michael is not who you think he is."

"Oh, yeah? Then who is he?"

Constance and Mallory had pretty much boxed her in, and unless Elizabeth wanted to resort to violence, she wouldn't be able to leave. They obviously wanted her to know something. She would listen . . . for now.

"Come upstairs with me," Constance said. "You have to see something."

So she followed, Constance leading the way, with Mallory behind Elizabeth. They stopped at a closed door. Elizabeth smelled something even through the closed door and she began to feel uneasy. What would she find on the other side of the door?

What she found was the body of a priest. Blood was coming out of his ears and his throat had been slashed straight across – those were the first things she noticed. After that, she realized she must be in Michael's room. Only . . . it wasn't a teenage boy's room. There was a Cat in the Hat book on the bedside table and there were toys spread around the room.

"Michael did this?" she asked. She didn't even know how she'd found the strength to speak when all she really wanted to do was turn and run away.

"Michael did this. He said the priest's words were burning his ears."

"What?"

Mallory, still behind her, touched her arm to get her attention.

"There's a lot you need to know about Michael."