Crossovers are a weird thing. They can be tricky but I have fun mixing the Victorious characters into different universes, so to speak. The reason for this one stemmed from finally becoming curious enough to start watching AHS. Everyone seemed to like it so I decided to start from the beginning. The first season was twisted but good and I had to write something for it. It takes place a few years after the end of season one. Enjoy!
2018
New pop sensation Victoria Vega was found dead by her concerned neighbor. The talented young pop star, mostly known for her short career role on TV as well as some movies, died Tuesday in what appeared to be suicide by ingestion of a toxic substance. Vega, 24, was found in her Los Angeles home, the infamous Murder House, about noon. Her agent, Madison Thornsmith, revealed that Vega had been battling depression and PTSD brought on by childhood traumas she refused to disclose. This has resulted in multiple prescribed medications. Despite this, Madison said she had never shown signs of suicide or even once considered it. Further autopsy reports are scheduled to be released Wednesday but so far no trace of the medications she took were found at high quantities in her body. Victoria Vega may have had a painful past but when audiences first caught a glimpse of her bright personality she was instantly loved. It wasn't hard for her to gain popularity from then on. Her appearance on the children's program…
My eyes skimmed across the screen as I read the old obituary article from a year ago. It seemed to haunt me as well as any ghost. I wanted to do something, anything about this. I needed to know…how? How had this happened? It was the ultimate question I needed an answer to. It would be a bonus if I solved all the other deaths that house hid. I pushed away my disorganized thoughts and tried to keep reading but my research was suddenly interrupted. I sighed, mildly annoyed for what felt like the fiftieth time today. I knew I should have considered freelance.
"Blah, blah, blah. Well, it seems yet another young star has kicked the bucket from overdose, eh?" the annoying voice of my boss, Beckett Oliver, stated as he read the Los Angeles Times over my shoulder. Why couldn't he just stay in his office and leave me alone? Oh, I forgot, he had a thing for me and kept trying to either get in my pants with the crappiest lines ever or warn me that I would lose my job just because I didn't do what he said. In his words, I constantly 'sassed' him. I scowled and shut my laptop with a snap, spinning around in my chair.
"Don't be an ass, Oliver," I spat, tired of his attitude.
"Watch your mouth, West, or I'll boot you out of here faster than that no-talent Valentine," he retorted. I instantly took offense to his words concerning the kind woman who befriended me on day one. I landed my goal of becoming a journalist at a young age. My father told me that my talent to write far outstripped my talent to sing and that I would be more successful doing something more 'secure'. Since it was his money getting me started he chose the path he liked best. He instantly made it happen, and boom, I was in. It wasn't like I didn't deserve the position, because dammit, I worked hard to get where I was regardless if my last leap was a buy in. But my young age came with a price I still couldn't seem to control, that being my temper. Too bad my new boss was just as much of a hot head, not to mention many other things that were more than unsavory, so we always butted heads. It pissed me off and still did.
"Let's see you fire me then. After removing Cat for speaking her mind you have no one else who can write as well as me. So go ahead. See if I care. I'll just find somewhere else to work, and with my articles, we'll run you out of business," I countered, a smug smirk on my face. That shut the jackass up. His sneer grew before he ran a hand through his hair and replaced it with a calm, unaffected smile of indifference.
"No, I couldn't take away your dream job. That would be cruel of me," he replied. I rolled my eyes and stood, glancing at the clock as I did so.
"Time's up. I'm heading home," I told him, packing my stuff before striding for the exit. I passed Andre and Robbie's cubicles on the way out. Andre gave me a thumbs up and Robbie gave me a timid wave. I raised a brow in our boss' direction and rolled my eyes dramatically. They both snickered and I left them to carry out their last hour of work. I took the elevator past the ground floor to the parking lot and made my way to my car. I often got lost in my projects and this was no different. I spent the rest of the day multitasking, doing whatever needed to be done while also thinking about the latest celebrity death. I wondered how truthful reports like that were. I found myself wanting to find out the truth for myself. Maybe with a little digging I could give the public what they wanted, a fully detailed report on Victoria Vega's death. I myself was curious, as death always was for me. Not to mention she had been living in the Murder House of all places. I always wanted to spend at least a day in there just to see how much of it was actually true.
Had Vega become a victim of the house or did she die an accidental death? Whatever the case, I had to know and no one would stop me. So, I went to bed with the intention of telling Oliver I would be leaving to do just that. The next day I talked it over with him and made a call to my father. Oliver wasn't too happy I got what I wanted in the end but I was ecstatic like I had never been before. It was almost as good as spending a night in the house they filmed The Scissoring in, only better. I was ready to live however long it would take to get what I needed in that house by the time Sunday came around. The last few days I had up to then I spent with Andre, Cat, and Robbie. They were a mix of proud and concerned since they understood it was something I wanted to do but at the same time were worried for me. I brushed it off, naturally. I left them all a good-bye text and asked them to wish me luck before I drove off into the higher class neighborhood of homes where the iconic mansion stood. I rolled up and parked in the driveway, taking it all in as I stepped out.
"Holy chiz, it's way bigger than I thought it was," I mumbled to myself as I shaded my eyes from the sun while looking up at the building. A melancholy sound drifted from my right and I turned to see a black cat perched on the hood of my car.
"When did you get here? Let me guess, bad luck? No problem, I live to prove superstitions wrong," I said, reaching over and holding out a hand, fingers curled, to introduce myself. He sniffed my hand and I petted his pitch black coat, his back end raised and his head nuzzling at my hand with each pass over. Cats always seemed to like me for some reason. A far-off sound made the cat flinch and then dart away across the yard, disappearing in a bush at the edge of the property. I walked up to the door and ran my hand over the handle, marveling at the fact that I was finally there.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind me. I pulled away from the door and turned to see the realtor. Marcy, I think. I was told she would meet up with me at the front door and here she was.
"Yeah, it is," I replied with a nod. She nodded in return and promptly brushed me aside to get to the door. She unlocked it and entered. I followed her in. The initial first steps were a mix of excitement and foreboding. Once the door closed behind me I felt almost like I had been locked in. I shook away the heaviness of the atmosphere and continued to follow the jerky movements of the realtor. My ears were somewhat trained on what was being said yet my eyes constantly wandered, taking away from my attention towards her to the fine work of art that was every room we passed through. The major pieces of furniture were still present like couches, chairs, and tables. I would wager a guess that the beds were still there too.
"I'm sure you know of the countless murders that happened in this house," she stated, voice wavering slightly. My attention snapped back to her like a rubber band pulled too tight. It was exactly the kind of topic I wanted to hear about. I took out the notepad I kept stowed away in my back pocket and removed the pen I kept tucked behind my ear, poking out from my raven locks, ready to start taking notes.
"Of course. I'm a journalist. Recording history to document and share with the world is what I do. Tell me everything and anything you can," I encouraged her. She gave me a tired and somewhat anxious look before speaking.
"The last family who lived here before Miss Vega, the Harmons, all died here. The daughter died of overdose, the wife of childbirth, and the husband of hanging from that very chandelier in the hall over the stairs. The gay couple living here before them had died by a suicide/murder in the basement. Going back to the beginning, I think you already know the history behind the first occupants; Dr. Montgomery, his wife, and child," she informed me. I nodded as I jotted down each death. I would have to find a way to fully flesh them out. Maybe asking around would help.
"Yeah, I know of them. Everyone who's taken a ride on that tour bus should," I mentioned.
"I take it you have," she guessed.
"Yes, how could I not? Death, murder, unexplained mysteries. I couldn't let that opportunity pass me by," I replied, looking up from my notepad littered with my untidy scrawl.
"Well then you'll feel right at home here," she responded stiffly. What was her problem? Her behavior made me more curious by the minute.
"I sure will. Is that all?" I asked. She hesitated for a second, but I caught it, before she handed over the necessary keys. I took them and she hastily left. I pocketed the keys and began bringing in the few possessions I brought with me. I climbed the stairs and found the master bedroom, dropping my things by the bed. I then went back downstairs and sat in the dining room to start on a grocery list that would provide food to last me the first month at the most. As soon as that was done I left for some take-out and returned to eat it leisurely before kicking back to relax. I spent the rest of the day scouring the internet for any more information I might have missed and copied it all down. The boxes of files I already had should be enough but I had to make sure it was all covered.
I turned in for the night and passed out on the soft bed in the master bedroom. The next day I began organizing all that I had written with a cup of coffee at my side. I was sitting in the kitchen but reminded myself to move all my work to the dining room. The table there was bigger than the one in the kitchen nook. It felt less suffocating in the kitchen, which was why I was there. The air was...light. That was the only way to describe it. As I worked, a knock came at the door. I looked up, wondering if the realtor forgot something. I stood and moved to open it, seeing a woman holding the hand of a maybe seven year old boy. She greeted me with a smile I felt was false while the boy looked up at me with one that I found too playful, impish almost in nature. He was a troublemaker, that was for sure. I was too at that age so I would know.
"Hello. Welcome to the neighborhood! I'm Constance and this is my grandson Michael. We live next door and I thought we could stop by and see who was here this time," she began.
"Jade West. This time? You mean after all the deaths this place had you'd think no one would want to stick around, but I don't live here. I'm a journalist and I'll be here at most a few months just to record my findings, then I'm leaving," I told her. She bustled inside with a wave of her hand, the boy towed in along with her. His blue eyes never strayed from my own blue-green.
"Oh, well then let me at least bake you something, darling. I can make chocolate cupcakes to die for. Let me whip you up a batch," she offered, her smile widening in what I assumed was a friendly manner but still struck me as odd.
"If you want, but-" I began only for her to cut me off. I hated being cut off but let it slide. It was no use getting mad at the neighbor, especially since she was clearly the nosy and gossipy type. I mean, how the hell did she know I was here unless she had been peeking out her window? She probably was now that I thought about it.
"I insist! Be back in a jiffy! You just get comfortable," she said, heading back out the door just as fast as she came in. I crossed my arms and watched her go, the silent little boy waving at me before the door closed. I shook my head and went back to work. Almost an hour or so later she returned, barging into the house like she owned it. Wait…hadn't she? Was she the same Constance I had read about?
"Hello again! Here you go, freshly baked," she announced, setting down the plate with a flourish. I quirked a brow at the chocolate confections then raised my eyes to her.
"Thanks. So I don't mean to be blunt but you owned this place at one time, correct?" I asked her, clearing away some papers to find my notepad and pen, just in case.
"Yes, I did," she confirmed, her voice losing some of its false cheer. Well, it was her then. The boy looked from her to me and then walked over to take the seat next to me. I glanced at him but returned my gaze to Constance.
"And Tate, the one who killed those kids at his school, he was your son?" I checked next, tilting my head curiously, keeping an eye on the way she became stiff and her own eyes burrowed into mine.
"Yes," she answered again, lips barely moving. And that was true as well. She could be a valuable source of information if I could just find a way to get more out of her. It was best not to push right now though.
"Unfortunately I lack any other information on you or him. If you ever want to talk, I'll be here. I'm highly curious of what dirty secrets this place holds," I implied, glancing around. She remained quiet, her lips now pressed into a line.
"For you," the small boy next to me suddenly spoke up. He slipped out a folded paper from the front pocket of his overalls with surprisingly steady hands. He held it out to me and I took it from him with a small smile.
"For me? Why thank you young man," I replied playfully in a 40's movie actress impression I was all too used to using to mock people. He giggled. I looked away from him to unfold the paper then stared at the image in front of me, trying to understand what I was seeing. Both Constance and Michael watched me as I stared blankly at the picture before folding it back up and pocketing it.
"Thanks again. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish organizing this mess," I said after clearing my throat. I gestured to the papers scattered on the counter as well as the table and then looked to Constance.
"Of course. Come on Michael. Let Jade work," she beckoned with a hand. He hopped off the seat and obediently took her hand.
"Until next time," she directed at me. I nodded.
"Bye," Michael spoke up with a wave. I held up a hand to him. My nosy neighbor quickly left after that. I sat back in the chair and pondered the conversation. She seemed reluctant to tell me the truth, yet she did. Why? There was more to this than I could properly pin down and it would require that I try harder to make her spill. But how? I tapped my pen on my chin and then bit at the cap. I unfolded the drawing once more, looking down at the ghastly faces drawn in crayon yet looked so real. Who were they? I felt it was best to take a break now that my mind was wandering so I put away the drawing, threw down the pen, and stood to stretch.
I left to do my grocery shopping then returned to put the load that I would start with away as well as the supplies I bought. I then stripped the bed of the sheets, blankets, and pillows I had put on yesterday. I literally took them off my own bed back home and packed them because my other set was dirty and I neglected to do the laundry so it sat under a pile. I found the washer and dryer set in the basement, loaded it, and left. I kept in mind the temperature change. It was freezing down there. I made my way back into the kitchen but paused when I heard a noise. I glanced around but saw nothing. I shrugged and looked around to see all the cabinets, as well as the fridge, open.
"That can't be a good sign," I muttered, glancing around again before shutting them. I took a seat at the counter then looked over at the cupcakes. They looked pretty good. I picked one up, sniffed it experimentally, and then opened my mouth for a bite when the doorbell rang. I sighed, set it down, and got up to answer the door. I pulled it open to a sight I was not ready for. A woman stood there holding a suitcase. She wore a tantalizing version of a traditional French maid's uniform. She must have been around my age. Her fox like gaze pinned me down and her smile at seeing me was seductive. I struggled to say something but she just stepped in, pushing me back with a hand on my stomach, and then shut the door.
"I'm Moira O'Hara, the housekeeper. I know this place like the back of my hand and I'd be happy to serve you," she stated. Even her voice was sinful. I held in a groan and barely managed a nod.
"Good, then I'll just unpack. Later I can tend to any of your needs," she continued, walking past me with her hand trailing over my torso until she was too far to touch me. I watched her walk up the stairs with a sway to her hips, her uniform doing nothing to cover her behind the higher she went. I licked my lips and then yanked my gaze away.
"What the fuck?" I mumbled, shaking my head for good measure. I strode to the kitchen and moved everything to the dining room. I worked there a little but my thoughts proved more disorganized than my notes. I gave up and stood to put the laundry in the dryer before deciding on a shower. I sat in the decidedly cold water a few minutes before actually washing. When I stepped out I wrapped myself in a towel and walked out to head to the master bedroom. On my way I passed a guest room. A satisfied moan reached my ears and made me stop. Moira was sitting on the bed, her hand under her skirt.
It took me no time at all to realize what she was doing. I had half a mind to yell at her but really I was too distracted at the thought alone. I even contemplated joining her. What was wrong with me? I shook my head, clearing it of the haze again, and turned away. I quickly walked back to the bathroom and into the shower to relieve myself alone. I rinsed off and then practically ran to the master bedroom, shutting the door firmly. I dressed quickly and prepared to leave but made sure the way was clear until I was where I needed to be. Which was working, and only working, on my report. I headed downstairs and prepared to get my laundry when my newly appointed housekeeper had already beaten me to it.
"Oh, um, you didn't have to," I mumbled almost incoherently, still a bit uncomfortable around her after what I saw. She smiled, that horribly distracting smile that was more of a knowing smirk.
"Yes I did. Have you already forgotten?" she inquired playfully.
"Uh," I choked out uselessly.
"I'm the housekeeper. I specialize in everything and anything that needs to be done in the house. So remember, if you need help with anything, just shout," she reminded me, leaning in close. The laundry basket kept us separated but she still managed to get pretty close. I bit my lip and nodded, brainless once again.
"Sure," I finally breathed out. She smiled and walked away, hips swaying. I watched her go, my eyes on her back end until she was gone.
"With her around it might just be a simple heart attack that kills me," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. I shuffled to the counter and sat down heavily on one of the stools, leaning on the cool surface. I scooped up a cupcake and took a big bite. The sweet and moist confection took my mind off unwanted thoughts as I stood to return to my report. It looked like a long day, and possibly night, was ahead of me.
Anyone who hasn't seen the first season, you may be missing out. There's a very tangled web of a story line I really didn't want to regurgitate it all for this so I left out things or scattered information across the whole story. Good luck with that. As for those of you who have finished the first season, it'll probably be easier to follow along. Hopefully I won't make it boring but only time will tell.