1992

"Give us a smile," the man behind the camera said.

The photographer, Danny, had tried everything to get the blond boy to loosen up: He'd tried joking around. He'd asked the kid about his hobbies. He'd even gone so far as to try the reverse psychology trick of 'don't smile!' which usually worked even on the most uptight models. Nothing was cracking the teen's sulky demeanor. So the photographer had resorted to cajoling - and that wasn't working either.

The kid was a hottie - that much was true - and while there was a market for brooding, pouty young men in the industry, Danny prided himself on being able to draw a good range of emotions from his subjects. But Tate Langdon was determined to be a one-trick pony even after Danny got some pot and alcohol into him. It was a shame and a personal defeat for the cameraman.

In the end Danny was forced to work with what the boy was giving him. He did get some good shots but they were severely limited in what the mother would be able to do with them, especially the head shots. Casting directors and modeling agencies wanted headshots that were friendly and approachable. Tate's were emotionless.

...

"After six hours, Mrs. Langdon," Danny told the irate woman in his most pacifying tone. "I had to call it. With coachingyour son could be a model. He's certainly got the looks and he has the 'it' factor. But no professional group is going to want to employ talent that won't show a range of emotion."

"I paid six hundred dollars for this sham," Constance fumed. "And you're tellin' me my boy is unemployable."

"That's not what I'm saying, ma'am," said Danny. "I'm saying he needs coaching-"

"-which you'd be happy to provide at an additional cost," she scoffed. "I should have known better than to go with a talent scout. I should have gone directly to the media agents myself."

"We do have in-house coaches," Danny agreed. "But-"

Constance didn't want to hear it. She'd already made up her mind about the Stars Above Talent Agency. "Just give me the goddamned photos," she demanded.

He passed the folder of shots over to her with a reluctant air. "I really think you should consider-"

"I'm done considerin' anythin' you have to say," she said.

She grabbed the folder and stalked out of his little office. On the way out she collected her son from the waiting area where he was still sulking. He followed her out to the car and they both got in without saying anything to each other. It wasn't until they got on the road where no one else could hear that she lit into him.

"I spent six hundred dollars on headshots and you couldn't even give the man one goddamned smile?"

Tate frowned and looked out the car window. "He was a douche-bag."

"So what?" she demanded. She slammed on the brakes at a red light right before accidentally running it. She used the time between it and the green light to glare at her son. "You could have smiled once. Just once!"

He folded his arms. "I don't feel like smiling."

She gave a bitter laugh then. "Tell me somethin' I don't already know. Jesus-fucking-christ, Tate! You don't have to feel like smilin' to fake one. You could have a career makin' thousands of dollars a week!"

"I don't want to be a fucking model!" he exploded. "I told you that before you dragged me down there! I don't want to model! I don't want to act! That's your dream! Not mine!"

"You don't have dreams!" she countered viciously. "You don't want to be anything when you grow up! You'd sit in your bedroom wastin' your whole life readin' comic books and watchin' MTV if I let you! Why can't you just cooperate? We need money!"

"Then get a fucking job!" he snapped, hurt by her harsh words.

She glared hard at him, tears brightening the rims of her eyes. There was pain under her anger. He sank in his seat. He knew he shouldn't have said that. But he didn't know how to apologize in a way that wouldn't invite her to verbally tear him open so he sat there in silence. She didn't speak to him again the whole rest of the trip home. When she stopped the car she turned a cold look on him.

"I have worked my ass off to keep this family together," she said in a low, menacing way that he'd learned to associate with pain and fear. "Your brother and sister need more than I can provide. If you won't help me, I'll find someone who will!"

She got out of the car then, slamming the door behind herself. He sat there for several minutes fighting back the urge to cry. He told himself he didn't regret not smiling when he hadn't felt like it. Deep down, though, he couldn't help wondering if he'd really screwed up.

But he didn't want to be in front of cameras. He didn't like the creepy feeling photographers gave him. They pretended to be your buddy just to get you to show your most vulnerable sides for the sole purpose of using them to sell stuff to other people. And Tate didn't want to be a whore.

"Whore," he muttered. He wasn't sure if he was talking about his mother or what she wanted him to be.

He got out of the car and slunk inside where he immediately went to the bathroom to slice some cuts into his arm. The wounds wouldn't matter now; the photo sessions were over for good. He was done being what his mother wanted him to be. That's what he told himself with each stroke of the blade.

...

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

...

2018

Tate carried the bound man down to the basement. He'd learned how to properly bind a person from Patrick and was privately pleased with how well he'd put that new skill to use. His ability also seemed to impress both Travis and - more importantly - Constance. It had been a long time since he'd felt like he'd done anything that made her proud. Though he wouldn't say it out loud, he liked it when she was proud of him. He didn't want to like it but, as with many things in his existence, he couldn't help what he felt.

"Doctor Montgomery!" he called as he descended the stairs with his awkward baggage. "Doctor Montgomery! I need your help!"

His call drew the surgeon out of the ether he'd been huffing back in his office. He solidified and emerged from the shadows in a lab coat and tie. When he saw the bloody and naked man he frowned.

"What's this?" the dark-haired doctor asked, giving the bullet hole in the man's forehead close scrutiny.

Tate carried Ambrose over to the old operating table and dropped him onto it. The man stirred a little. The bullet had come all the way out of his skull on the trip down the stairs but Ambrose had yet to regain consciousness. If his healing process was anything like Tate's, it might be a while before he fully recovered from being shot in the head. But Tate couldn't count on that.

"Constance needs you to... fix him," he said.

Dr. Montgomery looked the unconscious man over with a critical eye. "There is nothing wrong with him that a bath won't fix. He's healing himself."

"That's the problem, Charles," Constance said as she descended the stairs. She had a cigarette in one hand. "We can't have him runnin' this household and I'm not sharin' this property with his ghost. But he might be of some use if he's alive but… controlled."

The doctor and Tate watched she stepped down off the staircase. She came over to where they were gathered near the table. She looked down at Ambrose and blew some smoke over his inert face. He would certainly be of more value as a living zombie. The ghosts really would rule the property with a living puppet they could control in charge of it.

"Can you give him a lobotomy?" she asked, straightening to look at Dr. Montgomery.

"I suppose I could," he said. "I've studied the technique but I've never performed one before."

Constance smiled at him and resisted the urge to touch his cheek. She could sense Nora was somewhere nearby and she didn't want to stir up trouble with so much already plaguing her doorstep.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," she encouraged instead. "Just make sure he stays alive. Be careful. He's self-healin' so make sure he stays fixed. Oh, and get rid of his tongue while you're at it, just to be safe. He knows too much... about this house and other strange things."

Constance remembered his threat about binding her to a rock and knew she was making the right decision. She looked over at Tate while Charles set to strapping Ambrose's arms and legs to the table with the built-in leather restraints. "Stay here with him," she ordered her son. "Until the job's done."

"But mama..!" Tate started.

She held up a hand and put on her 'not hearing it' face. "I have to go back upstairs and get the damned blood off the floor before it sets in. That stupid maid went and drank her own foul brew. She's completely useless right now."

Tate was less than thrilled. "Fine," he grumped. "But later I want to go see Violet."

"Fine," Constance said in the exact same way he'd delivered the word. "Just make sure that asshole stays put till Charles can scramble his brains. We don't need him menacing the household again." She started toward the stairs then paused to add: "Father Jeremiah's comin' over later to put that blessin' on your room. Behave yourself when he gets here."

Then she went back upstairs but by the time she got there Chad was already there, armed with a bucket of bleach and a mop, with his heavy duty housecleaning apron on. Constance considered offering to help him since the mess was huge but she didn't really want to clean up any more blood. She'd already done enough of that over the years. So she left the perfectionist grumbling over the chore and went to have a cocktail and a cigarette instead.

...

Tate did as his mother instructed. He watched Dr. Montgomery work, witnessing the procedure with a mixture of disgust and twisted fascination. The doctor put the chunk of brain he removed into one of his dusty glass jars of formaldehyde and admired it like it was a prize.

"Is he done?" Tate asked, eyeing the unconscious man whose scalp the doctor had so recently sewn back together. "He won't- He's, um. Done. Right?"

Charles glanced over at the teen and nodded. "I've finished with the surgery. This bolt here steadies the plate I installed to inhibit regrowth of the brain tissue."

"You want me to move him?"

"No need, just yet," said the doctor. "I need to keep him under observation for a while, to be sure that his healing abilities don't negate the procedure. He can stay here for now."

Reassured, Tate moved toward the staircase. "I'm going to go find Violet," he said.

Dr. Montgomery didn't respond. He was lost in his adoring study of the brain piece he'd carved out.

...

Author's Note:

Interesting trivia bit: Forced lobotomies and forced sterilization went on legally in the United States right up to 1979. Some states used it as a way to stop high-risk young women from breeding.

Another trivia bit: Evan Peters, the actor who plays Tate, started his career as a model. One of the first people he worked with was later questioned in court over some inappropriate photos he took involving some underage teen boys.

Next chapter: A visit with Violet. Also, her parents both get some face time. But the Harmons aren't having a nice family meeting.