1993

Moving back into the house where her daddy had been murdered is a surprisingly dull affair. They'd buried Lorraine and the girls last month, Constance waiting this long to stake her claim publicly so that people won't gossip too much. "This is boring," Tabitha complains loudly.

"Maybe it would be less boring if you actually did some work," Larry comments, grunting under the weight of the sofa. "You know, instead of sitting on the furniture all the time?"

"Nobody asked you, Larry."

"Could you at least stop sitting on the furniture we're trying to move inside?" With a noise of inconvenience, she slides off the couch and walks into the house, her makeup bag in hand. Why can't she just pluck her eyebrows in peace for once? Every time she tries lately there's always some kind of interruption—Tate's horny, withdrawals start, Constance wants an opinion on lace doilies. It never ends.

Knowing none of the furniture will be going into the basement, that's exactly where she heads to first, closing the door behind her and starting down the stairs. They creak under her weight, but they don't wobble or give out as she stomps down them and jump to the concrete floor from the last one. The basement is divided into four spaces, the large space you come into first, two rooms off to the right and one on the left that holds the washer and dryer.

Tabitha moves to the first door on the right, peeking inside at all the dusty shelves and cobwebs. It's cluttered to the extreme, large jars filled with murky liquids and animal parts, the concrete stained maroon in some places from blood that hadn't been cleaned soon enough, and a long medical table complete with leather straps for flailing limbs in the dead center of the room. It's like stepping into a mad scientist's lab, the dirt-covered window only letting in a small amount of sunlight that creates a dappled pattern on the far wall.

"Beware," a voice states behind her, making her heart stutter in her chest as she spins to find the source," for I am fearless, and therefore powerful." He's tall and fit, middle-aged with short and styled brown hair; his eyes are grayish-blue, tanned from working in the sunlight, and dressed in a nice button-down and khakis.

"I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom," she finishes the quote," Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict." It's from Frankenstein, Daddy used to curl up with her and Tate on the first evening of Fall and read them a chapter every night until it was finished.

"Hello, Tabby Cat." He's grinning, looking her up and down in near disbelief.

"You're dead."

"You're observant." His eyes snap back up to meet hers, that stupidly smug grin still turning his lips upwards. They're a little on the thin side like her brother's, the Cupid's bow formation almost perfect if only they were a bit fuller. "Am I not going to get a hug from my little kitten?" She moves before she even realizes what she's doing, stopping only when her daddy has his arms wrapped around her.

"How is this even possible?"

"Maybe I'm still here because I wanted to watch my two little detectives grow up?" He sounds unsure but presses a hard kiss to the crown of Tabitha's head and allows one of his hands to rest on her lower back. "I don't care, Tabby Cat, as long as I have you and your brother."

"No, Tate doesn't know that you're dead and he can't know." She pulls back, breathing easier as she takes control of all the touching, resting her hands against his hard chest. "He thinks you and the maid ran off together and abandoned us."

"Then we'll just tell him the truth."

"Tate's not like me. He'd go on a vicious rampage if he found out what happened to you." Daddy frowns down at her, trying to smooth down her hair only for her to slap his hand away. "Stop that and listen to me!" He looks surprised at the outburst, allowing her to step out of the circle of his arms. "If he does something stupid because you broke the news that you're a ghost, then I'll find a way to send you to hell myself. Got it?"

"Anything for you, Tabby Cat."

2011

"What's up, Doc," Tabby grins as she walks into the kitchen, setting her backpack down on the counter. Ben spares a glance at his watch, realizing she was supposed to be in class for another forty-five minutes and wondering if she was just skipping or if she'd been kicked out again. After Hayden showed up, he wasn't able to focus his thoughts properly and the last thing he needed was another girl waltzing inside like she owned the place. It certainly didn't help that she was in a white crop top with black birds decorating the front of it, and a pair of white shorts that barely cleared her thighs. "Ready for our session?" Ben raises his brows and Tabby rolls her eyes when she realizes what the look of disapproval was for.

"Tabitha, what did I say not to wear anymore?" Ever since Tabby had revealed that she dressed the way she did because her father had liked it, Ben had asked her to dress in more appropriate outfits. Part of the reason was because he figured it would help her build up some self-esteem and deal with the trauma that had happened to her, but it was mostly because he didn't want to dream about the way she had looked when he took her almost a month ago.

"Revealing clothing."

"And what are you wearing?"

"Revealing clothing." She shrugs and stuffs her sunglasses into the side pouch of her bag. "In my defense, I look really cute today."

"Is this your daughter," the detective asks, his dark eyes glued to the smooth expanse of Tabby's legs. Ben really wished he could fault the other man for that, but he'd done far worse than simply ogle her. She was pretty, dressed to draw the attention of everyone in the room, and seemed a natural seductress when she wanted to be. The detective wouldn't be to Tabby's taste, Ben was certain of that much at least. Jack Colquitt was closer to forty than twenty, round-faced with a receding hairline and a pointed nose that made him look more like a mouse than a man, dressed in a cheap suit like a detective off TV.

"No," Ben replies," Tabitha is one of the kids that lives next door. I'm helping her through some stuff." He turns his gaze back to Tabby before he speaks again. "What did you do to get kicked out of your art class today?"

"Drew a dick on the chalkboard," she mutters, looking down at her colorful shoes," and I might have tried to bribe my teacher into giving me a B-minus on my report." Before Ben could start in on one of his speeches about bettering herself, she faces the detective. "So, are you one of his patients?"

"Not quite," the man says with a faint smile," I'm a detective with the police department."

"Do you have a name or does everyone just call you Detective?" That gets a laugh out of Colquitt, the corners of his eyes crinkling and emphasizing the bags there. He was obviously stressed, his laugh coming out strained and higher than a normal guy's.

"Most people call me Jack." Tabby moves closer to him with a softer smile, holding out a hand and waiting for him to shake it.

"Most people call me Tabby." She leans a little closer, not releasing his hand and rising up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder. Ben has to fight to keep his expression neutral and not glare at the older man for not moving away from her. "You must have a really stressful job, Jack. How do you unwind after a hard day?"

"Tabitha, go wait for me in my office," Ben commands, the authority in his voice letting her know he wasn't pleased. The alpha male part of him wanted to claim her as his mistress, to show dominance in his home, but the sane part of him reminded him that she was only seventeen and he could be sent to jail for the relationship. Besides, we've only had sex once. Get a grip, Harmon. Tabby moves away without a fuss, sticking her tongue out at Ben before sauntering out of the kitchen.

"As if the maid wasn't bad enough," the detective grumbles, his gaze following Tabby's swaying hips just as they'd followed Moira's. "Man, you must have a hell of a time with those two around."

"You have no idea."

"Anyway, if you think of anything concerning Mrs. Freeman, give me a call." He pulls out a business card and slides it across the counter. Ben nods along with a smile, shouldering Tabby's bag so she wouldn't forget it on her way out. The last thing he needed on top of everything else happening is for his wife to think he's cheating again. She wouldn't be far off the mark. He'd betrayed her again with his own patient, a girl that obviously thought what she did was considered normal. If that wasn't bad enough, his dreams didn't strictly revolve around Vivien anymore; sure, Viv's in them, but it's usually a threesome with Tabby or Moira swapping places.

"Goodbye, Detective."