(Note: I am an idiot and forgot Halloween 2015 is actually in an episode of Hotel so this isn't canon compliant. Please forgive me my many faults.)
In the land of gods and monsters
I was an angel
Living in the garden of evil
Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed…
Or
Halloween, part 2
October 31, 2015
The Hotel Cortez
Violet leaned over the railing of the mezzanine in the Hotel Cortez lobby, ashes falling from her cigarette. She was wearing a white dress and angel wings as she watched, disinterested, the crowd of people below her dancing to pop songs she didn't know. It was not how she had expected to spend her Halloween.
She had impatiently counted down the days all year, but when Halloween finally arrived, she found herself at a loss for what to do with her twenty-four hours of freedom. She had assumed she would spend it with her family as she had the previous three years. That is, until Michael showed up.
Everything had fallen apart so fast, Violet thought to herself as she took a drag. All her parents seemed to do was fight, if they weren't too busy ignoring each other. Her mom would tell her dad over and over again that Michael was pure evil and that he wouldn't change. Her dad would insist he could. Then her mom would end the argument by claiming he was using Michael as a replacement for never having a son that could grow up. Which, Violet thought, was completely hypocritical, seeing as her mom seemed to be doing the exact same thing with Tate.
Even after her dad had given up on Michael, the fighting and icy silences continued.
Violet couldn't decide how she felt about any of it except that it was all fucked up beyond repair. Her alliance was neither with her dad or her mom. Michael freaked her out. But he was Tate's son, so she didn't know why anyone expected him to be anything other than a monster.
All she was really sure of was how tired she was of being ignored. Pretending that it didn't bother her by hiding in corners, chain smoking as many cigarettes as she could convince Billie Dean to buy her, did little to erase the hurt she felt by how rarely her parents checked in on her. Of course, the option to confront her parents directly was always there, but the stubbornness and pride she had been born with hadn't worn off in death.
Tate was the only person who didn't ignore her. Often she told herself that she wished he would, but that wasn't entirely true. The rules of his banishment seemed to constantly waver depending on what exactly it was she wanted. For the majority of the time, he couldn't speak to her and she couldn't see him. On rare occasions she could feel him hovering outside of the room she was in, watching her. But those times, she had to admit, were when she was at her loneliest. It was like he could sense it.
And then there were the nights when she would lie on her bed in a half slumber, thinking about how Michael could burn a soul to nothing, and would be plagued by phantom flames. Her feet would begin to burn, then the sensation would travel up her body until a scream forced its way from her lips.
Tate was always the first person to appear in her room, the supernatural rules that kept him away completely brushed aside by her fear.
"What is it?" he had asked the first time. "What's wrong?"
"It burns," Violet cried. "He's burning me." She frantically scooted up her bed, away from the imaginary fire.
"Violet, you're dreaming," Tate said, his hands gently smoothing her hair. "You're ok, you're safe. I won't let him hurt you."
By the time Violet was lucid enough to be aware that she was not in any immediate danger, he would be gone, replaced by her mom and dad who would finally arrive and comfort her until she could convince them she was ok.
She wanted to be away from all of it, the house, her parents, Tate, and, more than anyone else, Michael. She wanted to remember what it was like to be a normal girl, one who didn't have to worry about her psychopathic ex-boyfriend or her very existence being reduced to ashes. Which is how she ended up at the Hotel Cortez.
It had taken hours of persuasion from Maria for Violet to agree to tag along with Gladys, Elizabeth and, worst of all, Hayden, for the day. Maria had promised that they would do normal girl things, which Violet had assumed meant pumpkin spice lattes and massive amounts of Halloween candy. Instead, Hayden led them on a shoplifting spree where they used their ghostly abilities to steal slutty Halloween costumes from fancy boutiques to wear to a party in downtown LA.
Apparently the hotel had recently been bought by some fashion designer who decided to throw a party filled with B-list celebrities as publicity. To her surprise, Violet found herself drawn to the ornate art deco lobby. It had a sort of eerie quality that made her feel as if she had traveled back in time. It was a shame that it was currently filled with factitious people wearing tacky costumes.
Her costume may not have been tacky, but she regretted wearing it. She was supposed to be Juliet as performed by Claire Danes in one of her favorite movies. But all she could think of was the night she and Tate had read Romeo and Juliet out loud to each other.
"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" A guy appeared at her elbow and leaned casually against the railing.
"Clever," Violet said. "Did you think up that one yourself?" It was ever so slightly more clever when she remembered the wings strapped to her back. He was dressed as a non-descript pirate, his white shirt intentionally too tight to show off his pecs and abs. His red hair and dark eyes were vaguely familiar to Violet, but she couldn't quite place how she knew him.
"I've got better," he said. "Want me to try again?"
"That's ok," Violet said, turning away from him to resume her people watching.
"You're not a fan of dancing?" he asked. She shrugged.
"Not really."
"Maybe you just haven't found the right partner."
"You think that's you?" she asked, turning back to him. He was older than her, by ten years at least, though he probably figured she was at least 21 since IDs were checked at the door. Not that she had needed to use the door. "Do I know you from somewhere?" She immediately wished she had kept her mouth shut when he flashed her a puffed-up smile.
"Maybe," he said smugly. He turned so that his back was against the railing, his arms stretched out. "You ever watch My Roanoke Nightmare?"
Violet had binge-watched all five episodes on one of the rare nights when the house had Wi-Fi. She squinted at him for a moment before realizing who he was.
"Oh yeah," she said cooly. "You played that prissy ghost guy. I didn't recognize you without the wig." Of course the one actor she talked to that night would be most notable for playing a damn ghost.
"Prissy?" he said, clearly unflattered by the description.
"What was your name?" she asked.
"Rory Monahan," he said. "Yours?"
"Violet," she said.
"So what do you do, Violet?" he asked her, sliding closer
Professional haunter, anti-real estate agent, she thought to herself.
"I'm sort of in-between occupations at the moment," she said out loud.
"Ever considered acting? I could get you an audition. Don't tell anyone, but I hear rumours of Roanoke season 2."
"I don't think I'd be very believable as a ghost," she said. She couldn't believe he was playing out this whole routine. Too bad he wasn't trying it out on Hayden, her whole purpose in going to this stupid party was to get laid. Rory wasn't unattractive, in fact if Violet ignored his swagger, he was actually really cute with his dark eyes and dimples.
Maybe Hayden had it right. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to give in for one night and pretend she was someone else. She was dead, wasn't she? What did laws and morals have to do with her?
"We should dance," Violet said, reaching over to a table to stick her cigarette in an ashtray.
"Yeah?" Rory said, surprised.
"I like this song" she said as the music changed to something slower. She thought it might have been Lana Del Rey.
"Ok, you wanna go downstairs?" he asked.
"No," she said, putting her arms around his neck. "Right here. Dance with me." He
smiled and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close. She had never slow danced with a guy before and didn't really know what to do besides sway along with him. After a few moments of staring up into his eyes, she grew bold and put her head against his chest.
It was nice, she thought. Rory was warm and she liked the way his large hands rested on her hips. She closed her eyes, listening to his heart beat in the way Tate's never had. At least, not since she had known him.
But as hard as she tried to enjoy being held by someone who was solid and real and alive, all it did was remind her that she wasn't. She thought about kissing him, maybe even asking if he had rented a room in the hotel. Sex and murder seemed to be the only things that made the other ghosts feel anything. Obviously Violet wasn't going to murder anyone. As for sex…
No, Violet thought. That wasn't her. There had only ever been one boy she had ever cared enough about to sleep with. Besides, even if she could force Tate out of her mind long enough to enjoy being with Rory, it wouldn't last. When the sun rose, she would be back, imprisoned in her house for another year.
She was not a normal girl and there was no use pretending otherwise. Tate was the only person who had ever seemed to not only understand, but appreciate that about her. Especially now that she was dead, he was the only one she could ever see herself being with.
Maybe her mom was right about him, Violet thought. She wanted it so badly, not a day went by that she didn't wish her mom's theories were true. Most of the time it felt like an impossible fantasy, but that night, she started to wonder.
Suddenly, all Violet wanted was to find Tate. She wasn't sure what would happen when she did, if she would forgive him or uphold her resolution to not speak to him, but she couldn't stay in the Cortez another minute.
"Thanks," Violet said as the song ended and she pulled away from Rory.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asked. She considered saying yes so she could slip away without having to explain herself, but she hated being lied to so she decided to be straight with him.
"I'm gonna go, actually," she said.
"Seriously?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "We were just getting to know each other."
"Yeah," she said. "I sorta have somewhere else to be. But it was nice meeting you. I'll look out for Roanoke season 2."
"Maybe I'll see you around?" he asked, looking put out.
"Who knows," she said. "Maybe next year. I only come out on Halloween."
"You're kinda weird," Rory said with a smile. "I dig it." Violet returned his smile before seeing Hayden out of the corner of her eye near the elevator.
"Hayden," Violet called out, but the other girl didn't hear. Violet yelled her name louder as she ran over to her. Hayden pulled away from the guy she was sucking face with.
"Ugh, what?" Hayden snapped.
"I'm leaving," Violet said.
"Fine," Hayden said, pulling the guy into the elevator as the doors opened.
"Will you tell Maria?" Violet tried yelling but the doors closed before Hayden had a chance to respond.
Violet returned to the edge of the balcony to try and spot Maria in the crowd below.
"Tragic for one so beautiful to die so young," a voice said behind her. Violet spun around to see a woman standing close by.
"Who are you?" Violet asked. "How did you know?"
"I'm the Countess," the woman said. "And I suppose you could say I am not quite human myself, which makes me more attuned to the spirit world. I like your costume. It suits you. An angel who can't reach heaven." She reached out and let a strand of Violet's hair slide between her fingers.
"What are you supposed to be?" Violet asked as her eyes swept over the Countess' nearly naked body. Besides a sheer black gown, the only thing that covered her breasts and pelvis was a bejeweled black snake, the head of which rested on her shoulder. Her white blonde hair was twisted up into two horns and her face was done up with heavy green eyeshadow and lipstick.
"Lilith," the Countess said. "The first woman, a goddess. Or she should have been. Tell me, where do you come from? You're not one of ours. They are all on the loose for Halloween. What unfortunate place do you haunt?"
"Just a house, not far from here," Violet said, trying to keep her tone conversational.
"Ah," the Countess moved closer to her. "Not the house Charles Montgomery built?"
"That's the one." Violet said. She wondered how many people knew of her house's supernatural occupants.
"Fascinating." The Countess leaned in uncomfortably close to Violet and inhaled deeply. "Of course. I smell him on you. He may have died long ago but I never forget a scent."
"What are you talking about?"
"I saw what he did. All those children he killed. Such a tragedy." Violet could swear she saw tears in the woman's eyes. "I tried to save him, but it couldn't be helped. Tell me." She put her mouth right next to Violet's ear and whispered. "What was it like?"
"What was what like?" Violet said, trying to inch away.
"Making love to the devil?"
With the way her stomach lurched, Violet could have sworn the railing behind her had disappeared and that she was falling in slow motion. The Countess stepped back, her lips twisted in a provocative smirk. Violet took her chance and bolted. She didn't bother apologizing as she pushed past other guests on her way down the stairs.
With a sort of feverish wildness, she fought her way through the dancing crowd, desperate to get to the door. The lobby felt endless and for one hysterical moment, Violet thought she somehow had become trapped in the hotel. Finally, she broke free and ran into the street. Rain dashed against her face and she gasped from the chill. It hadn't been raining when she had first arrived at the party. The night had been warm and the skies clear.
But she was too grateful for the air on her face to care much. In fact, she relished the way the droplets smacked against her skin. After taking a few deep breaths she looked around to see a few people eyeing her curiously as they hurried to get out of the rain.
Violet was in no hurry. She began walking down the street, her arms wrapped around herself. For a while she focused on walking in the opposite direction of the house, turning against her gut instinct at every intersection. But she soon gave up as she became lost in her own thoughts.
She wanted to brush off the Countess' question as the raving of a lunatic. But Violet knew she had been talking about Tate. She hadn't been the first to call him the devil, Violet remembered, thinking of Leah. What did that even mean?
Not that anything about Tate made any sense. Violet's feelings for him had been chaotic ever since the day she first saw his reflection in her bathroom mirror. She once thought she had been in love with him, but now she wasn't so sure. He had lied to her so many times, it was impossible to know if she had really known him at all. It was like being in love with someone who had never existed.
Her desire to find him had been washed away with the rain, replaced by guilt for ever wanting him at all. Violet often blamed herself for the things that had happened to her family. She had ignored all the warning signs about Tate, selfishly shoving it all aside because of her loneliness and the way he made her feel. If only she had told her parents as soon as she found out who Tate was and the horrible things he had done when he was living, maybe they would still be alive. She couldn't make the same mistake again.
There were too many questions she would never know the answers to. Did he really not remember murdering fifteen kids? Had he really tried to save her life or had it been a trick? The Halloween night they had spent together haunted her the most. What was the real reason he hadn't wanted to have sex with her? And if he had, would she have been the one to give birth to Michael?
The last thought made her feel instantly nauseous. She stopped walking and tilted her head up, letting the rain cool her face. As soon as she opened her eyes again, she saw her mom through a rain spotted window, sitting across from Tate.
Vivien seemed to be telling Tate something important. His eyes remained down and his back was hunched over a plate of uneaten food. Violet remained glued to the spot, unsure of whether she wanted to know the topic of conversation.
The rain felt strange as it fell against her bare shoulders. It slid down her back slowly, like sap. Her vision became blurred as it fell thick on her eyelashes and a metallic scent filled her nostrils.
It wasn't until Tate turned toward her, his eyes narrowed and then widened in shock, that she looked down to see blood slithering down her arms. She suppressed a scream and tried to make herself run for cover, but her legs felt paralyzed.
"Violet," Tate was suddenly by her side. She stared at him as his blonde hair became dark.
"Tate?" she said, her voice trembling. "What's happening?"
"C'mon," he pulled her underneath the awning of the restaurant he had run out of and tore off his flannel to put around her. But it, too, was now soaked red. She pulled it close anyway as she looked at the chaos around her. Blood pelted the cars in the parking lot and the living around them screamed, running for cover wherever they could.
Vivien joined them outside, holding Jeffrey close against her. Even though Violet knew there was nothing her mom could do to to stop whatever was happening, she felt a little calmer with her nearby.
"It's Michael," Vivien said. "We have to get back to the house."
The words worked like a spell and all four spirits found themselves standing in the dining room of the murder house.
At first Violet was just relieved to be out of the downpour of blood. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and shook off Tate's shirt. But her relief was short lived as she turned around to see the still body of a girl laid out on the table.
"Oh no," Vivien whispered.
"Is she…?" Violet asked. She knew it was a dumb question. The girl's white dress was covered in blood.
"Yeah," Tate said. "She's dead."
Suddenly the girl let out a terrified scream and for a moment Violet thought Tate was somehow miraculously wrong until she realized the girl's spirit had separated from her body.
"Hey, hey," Tate said, springing forward to help the girl as she sat up. "It's ok. You're ok." The girl tried looking around her but Tate firmly held her shoulders with both hands. "Just look at me, ok?"
The memory of Tate helping her out of the bathtub after she died played vividly in Violet's mind as she watched him. He had been so careful to make sure she wouldn't turn around so that she wouldn't notice the corpse she left behind, just as he was doing with the girl now.
"Where are they?" the girl asked hysterically. "The people in the robes?"
"They're gone," Vivien said. Violet wasn't so sure. They could still be there, she thought. But she supposed whoever they were couldn't hurt the girl now. "You're safe now."
"My heart," the girl sobbed. She tried to touch the wound in her sternum but Tate stopped her and held both her hands in his. "They took my heart. He...he…"
"It doesn't matter now," Tate said. "It's over."
"No," the girl yelled, "you don't understand. He ate my heart. I saw him."
Violet couldn't bear to hear any more. She stumbled backward before bolting from the room. It was too much. There was too much blood, too much pain. And there was no escape.
She ran outside, but stopped on the porch. The sky was still bleeding torrents. Even on Halloween she was trapped in her own personal hell. There was only one way out and Violet knew what she had to do.
Tate and Vivien's voices floated from the dining room into the foyer as Violet stepped back inside. They were asking the girl what her name was and continuing to lie to her that everything was going to be ok.
Everything's going to be ok, Tate had told Violet once. I love you. He had said it as if that was all she would ever need. As if the fact that he loved her would magically solve everything. But it didn't. Somehow it made everything worse.
As she walked slowly up the stairs, Violet's heart beat hard and fast. Except it didn't. It was a phantom heart sending echoes of blood through imaginary veins. She wasn't really there at all. She was merely a shadow, but a shadow that still felt agonizing pain and endless grief.
Michael's door was partially opened when she approached. Why could she feel her legs turn to liquid and her fingertips go numb if she didn't even have a body?
It would all be over soon, she told herself as she pushed the door open. Soon she wouldn't feel anything at all. That was what she wanted, wasn't it?
Her half-brother was asleep, his back turned to her. All she had to do was wake him up. Would he destroy her if she asked, or would she need to threaten him somehow? But what could she do that could possibly make him feel threatened by her?
She walked closer to the bed, her hand reaching out to shake him awake, when she felt an arm wrap around her waist and a hand clamp firmly over her mouth. Whoever it was dragged her backwards into the hall as she tried to protest.
"What are you doing?" Tate hissed into her ear, trying to keep his voice down. Violet bit down on his hand. He yelped and pulled it away.
"Let go of me," Violet cried as she attempted to writhe away. But he held fast, his arms pinning hers to her sides. "Go away, Tate!"
For a moment, she thought she felt his grasp loosen, only for him to hold her tighter the next. "Go away!" she tried again before giving up and letting the tears she had kept back flow freely. Her legs gave way beneath her and she collapsed.
Tate sank to the ground with her. He didn't say anything or attempt to comfort her with kisses as he had the first time he tried to save her from killing herself. The passing thought that she wished he would made her all the more desperate to get away from him.
"I don't want to be here anymore," Violet sobbed.
"Violet," Tate said, his voice breaking, "please, don't do this. I'll stay away from you. I'll do whatever you want, I promise. Just please don't-"
"Hello?" Michael had walked out of his room and was looking down the hall toward Violet and Tate. Violet closed her eyes, wishing herself invisible and quieted herself with a shuddering breath. "Is anyone there?" Michael asked. Violet felt Tate's chest relax in response to her continued silence. When Michael went back into his room, closing the door behind him, Tate unwrapped himself and moved away.
Violet shuddered, feeling suddenly cold and exposed without Tate around her. She looked over her shoulder to see him still there, watching her with enormous, wet eyes. He was waiting for her to tell him what to do.
Stay with me, she wanted to say.
"I'm sorry," he finally whispered to her. He could say it a thousand times over but she didn't know how she could ever believe it.
"Prove it," she said. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something. When he just continued to stare at her helplessly, she managed to get shakily to her feet and walk into her bedroom.
The shower she took was cold since no one was currently paying for hot water. At one point she thought she heard a scream and a thud. She turned the faucet off, but when she heard nothing else, she turned it back on. She stood under the water for nearly an hour until she was certain the last drop of blood had gone down the drain.
When she was finished, she dressed in her pajamas and curled up on her bed. It all felt too familiar. She felt just as drained as the night she had swallowed a bottle of pills.
Violet's door creaked open but she didn't look. She wouldn't let Tate crawl into bed next to her. Not this time.
Whoever had entered the room walked slowly toward her until they were standing right over her. She turned, ready to tell Tate to go away, when her eyes locked with Michael's.
Violet almost screamed as she frantically moved away from him, but Michael pressed a hand against her mouth, pinning her to her headboard.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said earnestly. "I want to help you." Violet scowled but didn't try to pull away or make a sound. Michael sat next to her on the bed, his hand gently but firmly in place.
"I heard you come into my room," he said. "I know what it is you want and I can give it to you." He shook his head when Violet's eyes widened in fear. "Not like that. I can give you what you really want. Freedom."
The word was enough to keep Violet from screaming as he cautiously removed his hand.
"How?" Violet asked. "I can only leave the house on Halloween."
"Not if I brought you back to life," Michael said. He gave her a boyish grin, as if he was immensely proud.
"You can do that?" Violet said breathlessly, barely daring to believe it was true.
"I can. My father showed me how."
"Your father? You mean Tate?" Michael didn't answer but his smile grew larger until it was almost manic. "Why would you help me?" Violet asked. She had never spoken a word to him before. His smile wilted, replaced by a desperate sort of look.
"You're all I have," Michael said. "You're the only family I have left. The only one who hasn't rejected me."
Michael's blue eyes began to fill with tears. He was so much like Tate, Violet thought. Too much. It scared her.
A movement behind Michael drew her gaze away. Tate was standing in the doorway. He had changed his clothes and was wearing the green striped sweater he had been wearing the day they met.
Do something, Violet wanted to scream at him. Say something. Anything. But he just stood there silently, waiting.
"Please, Violet," Michael said. "Come with me. You won't regret it. I understand so many things now. My father, he has wonderful things planned for me." Violet's eyes flicked away from Tate and back to him. What did he mean, his father?
"You're not ready yet," Michael said before Violet had a chance to respond. "You still want to stay here, with your family. I understand. But you will be. Someday, you will want to go with me. I'll come back for you. I promise." He pressed a kiss against Violet's forehead which sent a shiver through her whole being.
Violet watched in a state of shock as Michael slipped out the door and past Tate who could apparently only be seen by her.
"Why didn't you go with him?" Tate asked. His voice was hoarse and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
"Why didn't you try to stop me?" Violet responded.
"Because I love you," he said. Violet frowned in confusion. How did that make any sense? Not that her reasons for staying made any sense either. Her family, yes, but there was something else. A tiny hope she didn't quite understand. It was as if there was something she knew in her heart but couldn't see.
"I'm tired," Violet said.
"Me too," Tate said.
Violet kept her promise to herself and laid down alone, pulling her covers tight around her. A few minutes later, Vivien walked in with Jeffrey and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Did Tate tell you about Michael?" Violet asked.
"He did," Vivien said. "But he shouldn't have had to. I'm so sorry Violet. I have been so worried about Michael that I've been blind to who really needed my help." She stroked Violet's hair. "I promise to be better. I'm here for you. Always."
"It's ok," Violet said. "Michael was kind of a lot to handle."
"He's gone now," Vivien said. "I don't think he will be coming back."
But he promised, Violet thought. She could only hope it was a promise he would break.
"Is that girl ok?" Violet asked. "I mean, did she calm down?"
"She'll be alright," Vivien said. "Or as alright as we are. Her name is Casey, she seems nice."
"Can you stay with me?" Violet asked. "At least until the others get back?"
"Of course," Vivien said. "Make room." Violet moved to the edge of the bed so her mom could lie down next to her, Jeffrey between them.
Vivien had left the bedroom door open so that Violet could see out into the hall. It felt weird to have the house be so empty with all the other ghosts still wandering the earth. Except for one. Violet could see his jeans and chucks as he sat on the floor next to the door. Strangely, she didn't seem to mind.
