~Earlier that same day~

Tate Langdon hadn't been the only ghost in the house to not sleep that night; Violet Harmon had been going back and forth from her room and the few corners of the Victorian house that could aid her in any way upon finding things that could serve useful for every single thing Tim had taught her to use upon their Halloween outing. Shoulder bags, pens, her iPod, of course.

But the one thing that had been the hardest to obtain had been money from the owner, for Violet's old boyfriend, Tate, seemed to be planning something for them on Halloween, much like he had for the dirty blonde once a long time ago. Where he had once been an obstacle within her sentiments, if anything, at that very moment he was an annoyance. Violet needed time to perform her first criminal solo act, and the counted minutes that Tate took between each time he checked in Mel's room to make sure the night monsters hadn't eaten her weren't enough. Of course, she hadn't been able to help herself when she wondered if Tate had done the exact same thing with her years prior when he claimed to be in love with her, but for curiosity more than jealousy; after all, she was bound to hate him.

Yet, every time the blonde deceased gathered the courage to go into the owner's room, she could hear Tate's steps approaching to check on the blue eyed girl again; it became more than just an inconvenience that she could only react to by moaning in annoyance prior to running as quietly as she could back to her room. And thus, the same dance occurred at least ten times during the night; it became so distressing, in fact, that after what felt like too long before the idea arrived, Violet decided to spy on Tate. It did hurt her, she wouldn't deny it, for she knew he would always be her first love; but things had almost entirely changed, not only for his crimes, which she would always hold against him, but for her own reality and the means with which she had decidedly moved on. Not that she would allow much thought behind one of the reasons, for it was one along many that had shaken her from her purgatory of depression, regardless of how at fault Tate's twin, Tim Langdon, did hold to account upon her new-found peace; though he seemed almost an exact copy of Tate, he had proven to be almost entirely different from her psychotic ex. Apart from the difference in hair colour, the brunet proved much more gentle and understanding, and, where the agony of awareness shook her frame whenever she stood before Tate, no danger waves radiated from Tim at all. Granted, the boy confessed to be as much of a criminal as his twin had been, but where the taint of blood coloured Tate's palms, the other ghost's record held no more than stolen goods, which, by comparison... well, truly, such things could not compare.

"Finally." Violet whispered the moment her ex boyfriend walked out the front door; it almost felt as if it mirrored behind the perfect metaphor of what he should have done years ago, but only had deemed to do only at present because of the new owner: walking out of Violet's life. It also echoed exactly within the mirror of what she felt toward him; it had stopped being love, and it did not yet feel like annoyance, but if the thought of hate had come it no longer scorched within her mind. If anything, it was mere indifference. She hurt, but not the way she had two years prior. Not anymore.

Violet's steps made soft sounds against the wood as she climbed the stairs; her eyes scanned the place with a wondrous gaze while moving; for she needed to remember what Tim had taught her. They did say that practice made perfect, and also that once one steals something small one can steal something bigger somewhere more foreign than one's own home. Thus, there the blonde continued, walking toward the sleeping owner's room with parted lips to let in nervous breaths. Don't look suspicious; walk normally, take what you want as if it were already yours. Violet could hear Tim in her mind the way he had explained everything days prior; and within the nervousness that made her palms bead with the droplets of her anxiety, she groaned as quietly as she could the moment she stood outside the owner's door. "You can do this." She whispered to herself as she stared at the tiny crack of the ajar door. You can do it, Violet. She imagined Tim at her side; it was thus why her eyes focused on its doorknob almost as if she were trying to move it with her mind, but of course, moments later, her hand lifted to rest on the cool surface before pushing it.

Damn house. Violet thought upon the creaking echo of the door as she pushed it, regardless of her best attempts against the noise; it brought forth a grimace of worry upon her visage to observe the brunette upon the bed. Yet the owner didn't much but shift to rest on her side where she lay, leaving the dirty blonde standing upon the doorway, staring into the room that had once been her parents', completely frozen for what felt like an absolute eternity until she was sure that Melanie hadn't awoken.

Of course, what continued to keep Violet in her frozen place instead, became the eminent stare of one little gray and white Scottish Fold curled up by the owner's side. "Shit." Violet whispered before forcing herself to take a step forward into the room; the kitten meowed. If the circumstances were different, Violet knew she would find the ball of fur completely adorable, for she liked animals, regardless of if she found them annoying sometimes or not; but upon that very moment, the little pet staring at her with wide blue orbs, became nothing but an obstacle. "Good kitty." She whispered as she threw the sleeping owner a look. Within the continuing realisation that the brunette slept soundly, she gulped and looked around. If I were a weirdly young girl with loads of money... She looked at the stand with what seemed like more than a hundred records, which made Violet's brows rise. And strangely good taste... She continued in her mind as she scanned the room, trying, as hard as she could, to ignore the piercing stare of the kitten on the bed ...where would I hide it? "Hand bag?" Violet whispered as she continued walking into the room, forcing her eyes to remain on the kitten as she did so, simply to make sure that it did not, at any point, decide to attack her. At first, it sat up on the bed, meowing gently and sitting on all fours whilst nearly staring a hole into Violet's soul; but then, the moment Violet started to make her way away from the bed and toward the closet, the kitten looked away from Violet in the direction of the sleeping girl.

It rested as enough of a convenience to nearly allow a sigh of pure relief to escape the ghost's lips when she opened the door to the closet as quietly as she had the door to the room; once again watching the owner, whose face she could thus see, to make sure she didn't awaken. Quiet, Violet, quiet. She reminded herself the moment she managed to step into the closet. As soon as she closed the door almost completely, she reached inside one of her sweater pockets to retrieve the flashlight she'd hidden within and got to work; allowing herself to search around the clothes for money. Inside the pockets and in the bags one by one, pushing clothes to the side as orderly as she could to continue searching.

And then a book tumbled onto the ground.

At first Violet froze in place again and stared at the door, truly waiting for the owner to come search for the noise that had woke her up. But no; instead of the owner, the door slowly parted within a small space by a small gray and white Scottish Fold appearing through the small crack of the now ajar door. Once again Violet found herself relieved; at least until the kitten meowed. "Shh." Violet whispered before looking down at the book on the ground and pointing the flashlight toward it. It was a notebook, leather bound, open on the floor, almost fully inviting the ghost to bend down in order to pick it up so she could notice a sketch of a curly haired boy. "McClair," it read upon a small corner of the page. Violet's hand lifted to set the flashlight between her teeth before she took the drawing with one hand to try and see if anything explained it in the back; when she saw nothing, she allowed her eyes to fall on the words written on the open notebook on her other hand.

April 13th 1578 Dear friend:

I've done it again. My pain rests continuous and my heart remains broken.
If I couldn't still feel it beating inside my chest I would swear it does
not exist at all. But another life has ended under my hands and I admit
it, friend, I liked it. Have I lost myself? Have I truly now lost it all? Even my
mind? What have I done? I am lost. I am lost and I cannot begin to
know where I could search for sanity. But I find no point in finding it at all. Not anymore. There is absolutely no point. I still know he was my fault.
Help me, my friend, for I don't know the answers.

"What the hell?" Violet whispered between her flashlight-holding teeth after she finished reading. Had she perhaps stumbled into the closet of a hopeful writer? Could her hands hold that which the owner hoped to be a fictitious success? She dared not assume further before closed it, pushing the clothes she'd been moving when the book fell aside; the kitten meowed again. "Shhh!" Violet whispered once more after taking the flashlight with her hand again. When the clothes were moved aside, Violet noticed a stand, much like the one with the records she'd seen before, hidden behind the many outfits and incrusted to the wall. Many other old looking leather bound notebooks as well as normal looking school notebooks all piled neatly within the stand. Violet saw the empty space where, she assumed, the book she held in her hands was supposed to go, so she set it in its place.

But then she took the one book beside the one she'd previously set in place and opened it. The first thing she noticed became another detailed sketch, but unlike the one before, it displayed an outdated version of the girl sleeping outside of that closet door. "What?" Violet whispered again as she saw the written words on the bottom of the page: Melanie Fray 1542 And a small messy scribble that she guessed was the artist's signature. The kitten meowed again; a noise which made Violet sigh in exasperation before closing the notebook in her hands again, looking toward the kitten. Regardless, she forced herself to set the book back on its place. Who is this girl? She wondered before she pushed the clothes back the way she'd found them. Bush such did not match her goal upon that night, and it became enough to make her head shake before she moved along, begging for some sort of understanding to illuminate her by the time she continued moving to find money.

After what felt like hours to her, but surely had been simply minutes, Violet finally found the owner's wallet, as she had predicted, in the bag she had last worn. Inside the wallet there were at least a fifteen hundred dollars in cash; something that made Violet smirk and let out a soft quiet whisper of "Jackpot." into the quiet closet. She took most of the cash with quiet urgency, folding it gently without daring to release the smile from her lips.

And then she heard the front door closing again.

Her eyes lifted from the money she, literally, pocketed, to look toward the closet door. "Shit." She whispered, but suddenly became thankful when the small ball of gray and white fur went off running in the direction of the noise. Violet closed the wallet and reached for the handbag she'd found it in; more of a shoulder bag, really. But when her hands moved about to set the wallet back inside, something else glimmered in the dim light of the flashlight she'd set back between her teeth: keys. Even with the flashlight where it remained upon her mouth, Violet found herself smiling: an idea had just formed.

Setting the wallet back inside its confines, the ghost moved hurriedly to illuminate the insides of the black shoulder bag to see the activity of her fingers, and quietly, she moved the keys one by one until she found the one that read "BMW" in silver letters on a black fancy plastic; clearly the key she'd been searching for. She manoeuvred the key loose from the keychain and pushed the shoulder bag back where she'd found it. Taking the flashlight from her mouth, she turned it off, and after pocketing the key to the black BMW convertible, she moved quick to exit the closet, closing its door as quietly as she had opened it, making sure the owner she much less understood upon that moment didn't wake up once more, and ran quiet steps toward the room's door.

"Did you take care of your mommy while I was out, fur ball?" The soft voice of Violet's ex boyfriend echoed accompanied by steps on the stairs just as Violet exited the room.

Quietly, but with swift movements, she left the door ajar, the way she had found it, and ran as softly as her steps allowed her upstairs, toward her room, unable to keep the victorious smile from adorning her lips as she looked back, for a short moment, to see Tate pushing the door open while carrying the kitten. Of to check on your girlfriend again, huh. Violet thought; but it didn't matter. She'd done what she'd wanted to. Thus, she climbed the stairs to the third floor and quickly entered her room again; knowing, or hoping, that when she told Tim of what she had done, her friend would be completely proud of her for learning so well so fast.

To Be Continued