Rain pattered against the window, invisible in the dark of night. Thunder rumbled, vibrating the windowpane. Tate woke to the flash of white lightning behind the curtains. The strobe effect briefly lit up his room and he saw a figure standing near the foot of the bed for just an instant before the room went pitch black again.

"Pat?"

There was no response.

As his eyes adjusted, Tate could see there was no one there. He knew what he saw, though. His immediate response was to blame one of the other ghosts in the house, but uncertainty trickled in, clouding his reasoning. Maybe he had dreamt the figure. Or else maybe it was a trick of the light and his imagination.

Annoyed with himself, Tate flopped back on the bed with an irritated sigh. Then he felt strong arms wrap around him from underneath, as though the mattress had come to life. He cried out in surprise and tried to struggle free from the iron grip.

He woke for real, thrashing in the tangled folds of Violet's quilt. He rolled out of bed with it where he tumbled out onto the rug. Rattled, he sat there for several dazed seconds before pain in his forehead alerted him that he'd bumped his head on the nightstand during his fall. He healed the slight damage and looked around.

There was no thunderstorm. The room was quiet; the house was dark but dead silent.

Though he was unnerved by the nightmare, he suddenly missed the storm. It had been ages since he had seen a proper rain. He wondered if it was raining where Violet was and missed her all over again. He picked himself up off the floor and distracted himself from missing her by trying to remember the dream. It was already mostly gone though. All he could recall was the storm and a general sense of foreboding.

He wasn't keen on going back to bed or sitting around in the dark for that matter. So, he decided to go on another excursion to search for a pet. Finding a suitable one had been a bigger challenge than the teen anticipated. Very little presented itself for his consideration and when he did find something, it usually wasn't anything he could bring home.

He tried the cemetery first that night. The graveyard was strange, all smothered in fog and overgrown. A distant memory stirred, and he recalled sneaking through the cemetery at night on a couple of occasions when he was still alive. Back then, the place was well-tended and managed to feel alive despite being a home for the dead. Then, cars zoomed by beyond the low walls. He could see street lights back then, and hear dogs barking.

Tate couldn't remember the last time he heard a dog bark. He missed animals. The scene at the zoo tried to surface from his memories and he stuffed it right back down again. He didn't want to think about that or the hundreds of abandoned pet stores out there.

He wandered further afield, not sure what he was looking for. He just knew didn't want another bird. He was still raw over the way the crows abandoned him.

And then he saw it.

It was so big and spiny-legged that he didn't even recognize what he was seeing when he came across it. It was the size of his hand and sitting out in the open, having recently taken down a young rat for a meal. It sat atop the dead rodent, waiting for its toxins to soften the meat enough to eat. It sensed him approaching and made itself known by lifting its thick front legs in a menacing manner and the thing hissed. The giant spider actually hissed.

Tate stopped where he was and tipped his head. He was used to critters sensing him. He suspected they could see some spectrum that humans couldn't. He wasn't used to ones outside the house being so aggressive. He knew the overgrown spider was just defending its food source, but he found the display amusing.

He decided he wanted it for his pet. However, he didn't have anything to put it in. While he could try to carry it home, that could get awkward since it already seemed ready to fight. So, Tate went to the caretaker's shed to find something to collect the arachnid in. He located an old coffee can and, once he dumped the rusty nails and screws out, it made a fine transport for the thing.

Only when he got back to the spot where the spider had been, it was gone. The thing it had been eating was gone too. Either it had scuttled off with its dinner or it and the dead rat had been eaten by something even bigger. It was a disappointment, no matter the cause.

Still, Tate was not deterred. He left the cemetery, taking the old coffee can with him just in case he found something else that would fit in it. On reflection, though, he decided it was just as well that he hadn't caught the spider. It was a living thing and living things never fared well in the Montgomery Mansion. He really needed to find something that was already dead.

The only problem was that the blood crows had taken out almost everything undead. Human and animal zombies were largely a thing of the past. He got to eyeballing the houses as he headed back in the general direction of the mansion. If there were any undead things left in Los Angeles, they were most likely to be found in the thousands of houses scattered through the foggy zone.

Tate decided to expand his new hobby of pet-hunting.

—

Searching the abandon homes turned out to be great fun. Tate had unrestricted access to other people's things and no one to tell him to keep his hands to himself. After the third house, he wondered why he hadn't thought to go scavenging sooner. He found troves of secrets and treasures in the belongings of the dead and missing. Photos and weird clothing, expensive wares, and all kinds of amazing things to bring home to add to his collection.

By the fifth house, he had too much to carry. Rather than head home, he nabbed a shopping cart and pushed that door to door in the nicer section of the neighborhood. Decked out in trinkets, jewelry, neckties and several hats, he took his loot back home.

It felt great to move all of the stuff into the shadows of the foyer. It got him thinking about all the treasure he could find in the rich area of the valley. He didn't want to have to walk it all back from there though so his thoughts turned to those he knew that could drive. As he arranged his new acquisitions, he considered who would be best for the task.

Ordinarily, he would ask Dr. Harmon. But he was still gone with Violet. Tate had to remind himself again that they were gone to protect them from Michael, but the reasoning made less sense to him as time passed. They couldn't just stay away. Not forever. They had already been gone longer than he liked.

Without Ben to ask, Tate went down the line to Patrick, then Chad. Neither was someone he felt comfortable with involving in his raids. He wanted to look for a pet and he had a feeling they would object to that, and to his collecting. Mrs. Nora didn't drive. Charles might but fat chance getting him out of the basement. The guy never left the house. Ever.

Sam and Nikki could both drive and likely wouldn't have a problem with his missions, but he didn't like the idea of asking them for help. Mostly it was Max he had an objection to. But there weren't many people after them. Travis could technically drive but he rode a motorcycle and even if Tate was comfortable sitting that close to the guy, which he wasn't, they needed something he could haul stuff in.

He thought about trying to drive himself. He had never had an interest in the activity and wasn't keen on it even now. Cars were unnecessarily complicated and needed gas and attention to not run into things. He preferred to leave the mystery of the machines to people who understood how to use them. He liked to ride and not think about how he was moving. He could manage in video games but after all these years, still crashed all the time.

Michael drove. He did it without crashing, too, although he always parked badly and when he took off, the tires made squealing noises outside. Like he wanted the whole world to know when he was leaving.

The more Tate thought about it, the more it bothered him.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting behind the wheel of the car that the last owner of the Montgomery Mansion had left behind. It was a fancy old Jaguar that Pat used to get a kick out of driving down to the club back when it was still in operation. It had sat idle for a while, but it started right up when he turned the key in the ignition.

Working on theory and past memory of watching others do it, Tate tried to put the car in reverse, but the handle wouldn't shift. He finally figured out that he had to have his foot on the brake and got the thing in gear. Then, very slowly, he let his foot up off the brake. He crept slowly down the long driveway, braking often and hard. When he finally rolled out onto the street, he let the car glide to a complete stop before putting the brake on and shifting into the Drive gear. After a few jerky false starts, he was off.

...

Author's Note:

I am done with finals for the Spring semester at school. Wheeeew. Unfortunately, during my moment of distraction, Tate decided he could drive.

I'll get this fic back on course next chapter. I hope.