"Why?"

He knew, as a psychiatrist, asking 'why' was an intrusive question. One that often left patients feeling threatened and attacked. Looking at the dejected boy, whose hands held his head up by fistfuls of- how ironic- angelic curls, Ben couldn't help but feel the gut twisting urge to hurt this forever young boy in at least some small way. Tate's head jerked up and revealed eyes so mournful it almost convinced him the boy- the psychopath- was regretful.

"W..hy?" He breathed the word like it was a sound he was mimicking, but did not understand. Ben thought he probably didn't. Besides bloodlust and anger, what else could drive this demented fossil of a life?

"I- I was angry."

Ben fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, for a demented son of a bitch like Tate, anger could justify anything. Then, the boy continued and Ben felt his anger plummet, just slightly, into nausea.

"I was so angry. Constance, I know, I shouldn't blame her for my actions, but- how could she? She had us sitting around the dinner table like a fucking family. How was I supposed to eat, staring at the man that had just smothered my brother? Now he's stuck here, Beau, and he- of anyone, he deserves to be rotting here the least."

"Beau? The- the boy in the attic?"

"Larry did it, you know."

He didn't. Tate wasn't normally the sharing type, and Beau.. couldn't. To reconcile the two children as siblings was difficult. They were quite literally polar opposites. Tate was handsome, charming and purely vile; Beau was deformed and a pure soul.

"So I burned him. It felt good. I wonder if that's how Constance felt when she shot by dad and Moira. Vindicated, you know?"

Ben was starting to reel. His family knew a little about the others in the house, but it was becoming grossly obvious how little.

"I thought your dad abandoned your family."

Tate laughed. A harsh, grating sound, "That's what my mother tells everyone. Did you really not notice how much Moira and she hated each other? That's why her eye is so wonky. Say what you will about the bitch, but my mother is a damn good shot..," he trailed off, thinking, probably, the same thing as Ben, "It runs in the family."

" I still see my dad from time to time, but he doesn't seem to recognize me. Constance fed him to her dogs. It took me awhile to figure it out. It didn't matter in the end, but when Larry killed Beau and Addie started to fawn over him.. I couldn't take the thought he might hurt her too, or that he would get away with what he did.."

The pause in his speech allowed Ben to recuperate from the repeated shocks. Understanding Tate left a sour taste in his mouth. He found himself clinging to his previous view of the boy though, in this situation at least, he couldn't make himself believe he would have reacted differently.

"What about those children? What could possibly convince you that you had right to slaughter them?"

Tate's face scrunched up as he contemplated the questions, "Honestly? Mostly the meth and coke. I suppose I was projecting onto them for a while. What I told you when you were my shrink wasn't a lie. I couldn't imagine these people wanted to live. That they wouldn't be better off somewhere else. I felt justified- like a saving grace. Maybe I was doing to them what I was too cowardly to do for myself."

The silence after this admission, the closest Tate had ever come to seeming vulnerable, lingered in the air.

"Tate, as much as I hate to admit I can understand where you were coming from in all this, what you did was still wrong. None of this explains or excuses your actions after you died either. Why the couple that lived in this house before my family? Why..," Ben grasped for the horrible words and finally settled on, "my wife?"

Tate's wide, guilty eyes stared into his own for an eternity. The words that finally dropped from his lips were anything but what Ben expected, "For Nora."

"Nora?"

"She saved me. From Thaddeus. You know, your girlfriend, sorry, calls him the Infantata. Clever, huh? It kind of stuck in the basement crowd. Anyway, when I was a kid-"

"You're still a kid."

"Right. When I was a small child, right after my dad "abandoned" us, I ended up playing in the basement. Constance was out cold from drinking. It was dark, and I lost my toy. Thaddeus came after me, but Nora stopped him. I loved her right then. I suppose if I ever had a mother figure, it would have been her. She wanted a baby so badly, even then. I promised her I would make that happen. When the fags decided to not to have kids, she was devastated. So I killed them. There is no excuse for how I did it. I was still just as angry as the day I died," Tate looked up from the curtain of his hair, "Then, when your family moved in, she reminded me of my promise to her. Only, after I-I.."

"Say it, Tate."

The boy's face hardened, "After I raped your wife, I fell in love with Violet. There will never be a justification or reason deserving of my actions. I can only say I was consumed by the hate I felt. For the dead and for the living. Violet changed all that. So I told Nora I had to renege. I couldn't hurt Violet anymore. But it was too late. I couldn't undo what I had done. Instead, I tried to keep Violet safe. I killed those nuts. The ones that broke into the house when you were gone? It's difficult to be sorry about that. They were going to hurt Violet," Tate took in a shuddering breath, "I was determined I wouldn't let anyone harm her. Only, I failed at that, too. I couldn't keep her from hurting herself. I decided I would try to keep her from realizing she was dead. I killed that exterminator because he found where I had hid her body.. I failed at everything."

"Is she the factor that spurred on this sudden need for atonement?"

"Yes. I know. I know I'll never been good enough for her, and that I never was. But I love her more than I have ever loved anyone. She deserves for me to try, even if she never looks at me again."

Ben sighed, and stared out the window. Guilt still gnawed at him for his own failings. To accept Tate had saved his family in his absence was more salt in the wound. Experience, as a psychiatrist or anything else, could never prepare a person for this house. Begrudgingly, he admitted a boy like Tate never stood a chance. Warped, miserable, and desperate, Tate had had his reasons. Reasons that did nothing to change the outcomes of his actions, but gave Ben a pinprick of understanding.

After moments of contemplation, he finally spoke, "I really had no idea how fucked up you were. Your reasons were shit- all of them, but I will admit I see where you could have thought in your twisted little mind how you were helping. Whether we wanted this or are happy about it, what you did helped bring my family back together. It pains me to say that, and this: Eternity is a long time. If you're serious, I think she may forgive you one day."

The hope in the boy's face was radiant, "You actually think that?"

"Given long enough, I hope we're all forgiven for our sins."