Chapter 1: Violet

1994

Tate walked through the busy halls of the high school. His head remained down, watching the floor with strands of blonde hair hanging before his eyes. No one really noticed him, with his dark red sweater, jeans full of holes, tennis shoes. Nothing looked too out of the ordinary with the Kurt Cobain look a like.

He went to class on the days that he was bored, or had nothing better to do. This was one of those days. He never really paid attention in class though. He would sneak in other books to read of draw in his notebook. To him, this all meant nothing. If he didn't graduate, then he didn't graduate, no big deal. It wasn't like there was anyone who really cared what he did anyways. Well, there was one person, but as far as he was concerned, she didn't matter.

Another reason to go to school though, was simply to get away. That house, he couldn't stay there too long without getting upset, without thinking about what had happened there. He knew that Larry had killed his brother up there in the attic. It was no secret. Larry and Constance acted like it was, her with her bullshit story of how sick he was and how he must have died of natural causes. Tate knew that Beau wasn't all that well, but he had also heard Larry go up there and talk to him. He knew that they were wanting to take him away from Constance. He also knew that if you died in the house, you stayed there forever. It didn't take a genius to put all the clues together.

Back home, the person that he really did care about was Nora. She was the one that helped him around the house when he was little. She taught him how to get rid of the ghosts that were scaring him, and how to talk to everyone there. The only thing that she didn't teach him, was the fact that no matter what you do there, the house still has something over you, an evil influence that pulls you into insanity and grips onto you, constricting you like a snake with it's prey, waiting for the right moment to devour you. No one could teach that though, that was something that people had to find out on their own, and most of the time, you had to learn the hard way.

The bell rang and the hall was cleared out. He was late, but it didn't matter. The teachers should just be happy that he was there today. He turned and went into the classroom.

The teacher at the front of the room, Mrs. Hartley, looked over and smiled to Tate. "Nice of you to finally join us Mr. Langdon," she mentioned. She was very aware of his attendance record, and actually, sincerely meant what she had said. She was a younger teacher, early thirties. This was her first year teaching here, and already, she had heard stories about the kids. The stories of the ones that stood out from the rest, the trouble makers, the class skippers, the smart kids, the best of the best, the most athletic. Really, to her, it was just like being a student all over again. The teachers were all just as bad about talking as the kids were.

Tate nodded and took his seat in the back of the room. Without even hearing what was going to be talked about today, he opened his notebook to a blank page and started drawing. The random scribbles on the page were starting to become the outline of a bird flying away. That was something he wished he could do a lot of the time, just fly away. In the background, he started to draw buildings on fire, preppy girls with drug dealers and pimps, dead bodies, rats running the streets. The filth and suffering that he had encountered every day whether it be in real life or on the news.

"Where'd you learn to draw like that?"

Tate looked up, over to the girl sitting next to him. She looked a little young to be in his class, most likely because of her soft, angelic face. That wasn't the only thing he caught about her though, he also noticed her long hair sandy blonde hair, those dark brown eyes revealing a sort of morbidness to her. "I don't know. Just can I guess," he casually responded.

The young girl sat there, studying the picture. There was a rawness to it that she appreciated. "Most people are afraid to draw stuff like that," she mentioned.

Tate looked glanced down at his picture. This was true. To most adults, this was the sign of a mentally disturbed child, the sign that they needed help. That bothered him, anything that people did out of the ordinary was considered a problem, and it really shouldn't be that way.

"Reality instead of the fake, bullshit pictures showing this perfect, little, made up world," she stated. Her eyes were glued to the picture, fascinated with it's honesty. In a way, she was glad that someone else shared her view of the world.

"I know. I can't stand being lied to by people telling me that everything is okay when it's clearly not," he replied, looking back up to her. A slight smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. This was the first person that he had met at school that actually seemed to get what he felt. She wasn't into all the popularity and all the he said, she said bullshit, she was real. She saw the world through his same melancholic view and took it for what it was instead of trying to cover it up.

"I see you've met out new student," Mrs. Hartley announced, standing before the desks.

Tate looked up to her, the smile disappearing. "Yes," he answered, figuring that that would be enough to get her to leave the two alone.

Mrs. Hartley smiled. "I don't mind if you make friends with her Tate, but please at least wait until I get done explaining the project before you start talking to her," she requested.

Tate nodded and went back to his drawing. He could hear her continue to talk, but ignored it as he went on to put in the details. While he was scribbling in some of the harsh shading, a note was dropped down on his desk beside his notebook. His eyes immediately focused on it, knowing exactly who had given it to him. He set his pen down and gingerly picked up the paper and unfolded it. You forgot to ask, name's Violet. He looked up to her, momentarily watching as she jotted down a few notes. The small piece of ripped paper was still in his hands, currently being refolded. He slipped the paper into his pocket.

The rest of the class, he sat there quietly, finishing up his picture, making sure that it was perfect. Then, within the last few minutes, he tore the picture out, folded it up, and tossed it onto Violet's desk. Smirking, she glanced over to him and then went on to unfold and examine the picture. On the top, right above the bird, TAinTEd, was written, and then his name, Tate Langdon, signed on the bottom. She could feel his eyes still watching her as she accepted the picture and slipped it into her folder to keep it safe.