III.
Several Years Later

Tate had grown up to be the most affectionate little brother this neighborhood had ever seen. With his curly blonde mop and sunshine smile, he was everyone's favorite tot next door, and he especially loved to chase Addie and Darby around the house and in the yard weaving between the boxes scattered all about. There was great news-divine news: They would be moving next door into Constance's dream home. Ever since that beautiful baby had been born, everything had begun to fall into place. She was finally the envy of the neighborhood.

However, Addie wasn't too excited about the move. Only about two years ago had she witnessed the hooligan red-headed twins step inside and never come back out. It had really caused a huge panic in town. What kind of sicko could so brutally murder a pair of young boys in their little town? To the mothers' dismay, their killer had never been found. There weren't even any fingerprints...

Adelaide had cried up and down with her parents, pleading with them to reconsider the move. "You're gonna regret it. It killed them!" But her cries fell on deaf ears paired with rose-colored goggles. Constance would not budge from this; it was destiny. This was divine right.

Tate was often chewing on his fingers in a daze in the presence of the house. He only knew that his sister had a great dislike of the house, and so he didn't like it much, either. He, Darby and Addie had a strong alliance, and what one thought, the other did, too. They had created this special bond. For Darby and Adelaide, it was much more real, much more a tool of survival, but for Tate, it was nothing more than an innocent game.

"Hugo, can you take this one upstairs to the attic? This is Beauregard's garbage," Constance called, lifting a small, dusty box and placing it into her husband's arms. She was dead set on completing the move before the sun went down that night. She needed to be rid of her embarrassing past and move on to a bright, successful future that she so deserved. As always, she was a woman on a mission. However, Adelaide's persistent refusal to help move boxes to their new home was drawing on her last nerve.

"You'll learn to not let such thoughts bother you after we're moved in, Adelaide. Would you do as I've told you time and time again and start taking your things to your new room? It's even bigger than the room you have now, doesn't that excite you in the least?" Constance huffed at her, ending the conversation as she began tossing the leftover cookware into an open box to take next door.

Why didn't Mother understand her desperation?

"There's still so much cleaning to do, yet, and we have to get everything moved over. I can't stand this hellish process any longer, Hugo! I despise moving." He wasn't even around to hear her complaining, and even if he were, he would've tuned it out completely. The stench in the air was growing stronger as the wind blew through the open windows of Murder House. Constance would be bleaching the house from top to bottom for days before the awful smell would be gone. Poor little Darby, with his weak stomach, could barely stand to be within a few feet of the house. In order to avoid the stink, he distracted himself by pulling the weeds out of the backyard and chasing butterflies in the dead grass.

Adelaide couldn't stand the frustration of it all anymore. She ran back to her home and stumbled up the stairs to see her elder brother. Beauregard was good at listening. He always enjoyed her company, even if Constance didn't.

And little Tate, he followed his beloved brother, Darby, into the backyard. He stood over him, blue eyes squinting. "What doing?" he asked, belly pointed out and feet wobbly.

Darby didn't look up. "Fixing the yard."

"Fixing?"

"Yeah. See these?" Darby showed him a dirty handful of the weeds he'd been pulling at which Tate stared at blankly, "These are kinda like monsters, and they hurt the flowers. They gotta be pulled out of the ground or else we won't have a garden."

"Oh," Tate replied with slight delay. "Want me help you?" He sat beside his brother and began pulling out everything around where he sat before Darby could even give an answer. Good for Tate, Darby was very patient with his baby brother. They had been growing quite close as the younger one of them grew. They almost could've passed for twins, had Darby not been albino-he was quite tiny for his age and could pass for being about Tate's age.

"No, Tate. Only these ones. Don't pull on the grass. See the difference?"

The tot thought long and hard, staring at his brother's example before nodding his head with a bright grin and crying: "Okay, Darby!" He always emphasized the 'bee' in Darby, like it were a mouthful for him to speak it.

...

"Nobody believes me, Beau."

The hunchbacked, greasy child looked back at her with understanding in his glossy, blue eyes. He couldn't say much with words, but he had a way of making you understand how he felt just from the way he looked at you.

"But you believe me, doncha?" Addie smiled, rolling the little red ball back over to her brother. He was so delighted in her company, quickly chasing after the ball and then rolling it right back over to her, drool dripping from his coated lips. He had been so starved for attention, the sad child.

Adelaide looked thoughtfully at Beauregard as he tripped and stumbled about himself. She thought and thought. "There's something diff'rent 'bout you and me, ain't there, Beau?" It was a realization she had been coming to for a while now.

Beau looked back at her, and she could've sworn that he nodded his head in agreement.

This time, she didn't roll the ball back. She looked down at her feet, a little sad and probably disappointed, too. "We aren't like Darby and Tate, are we?"

Beauregard barely knew Tate. Darby had brought the knew member of the Langdon family upstairs to meet his eldest brother, but Tate cried and cried, afraid. Constance told the older children to keep Beauregard away from Tate as he was much too young to understand that his brother was not a monster. Addie and Darby had never realized anyone would ever think their Beau was a monster before that time.

"We don't think like them, do we, Beau?"

Silence. A confused stare.

"That must be why Momma doesn't believe me..."


Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. So much has been going on with my personal life. Winter was just terrible. I'm trying to get back up on my feet and find the inspiration to write again.

Constructive Criticism is always welcome!

~Lully