Tate trudges towards the house, his backpack heavy with books he'll never open. Well, except for maybe one. His English teacher, Ms. Andrews, handed out copies of The Catcher in the Rye. He skimmed the first chapter. He thinks he might have a few things in common with Holden Caufield. He'll give it a try.
He hears a sound– a muted cry. He looks up, thinking it might be a bird. There it is again. No, it's coming from the house. He pauses, listens. Once more he hears it and his mind registers what the source must be. He hurtles the porch steps in one leap.
He pushes through the front door. There is another muffled scream, louder now that he's inside the house. Tate bolts up the stairs, but remembers he can't get to her without the key.
He turns back to find Constance standing in the hall. She glares at him defiantly. Tate jumps down the last two steps, his boots thumping the floor.
"Give me the key," he demands.
Constance tries for a little laugh. "Oh, Tate, dear, you are one for drama," she drawls. "Now you know Addie needs to be disciplined," she says.
"Give me the key." He repeats the command evenly. He's a head taller than her now. He looks down at her through a half-lidded glare.
"Tate, I won't have you just barging in here when I have spent all day – "
He slams his bookbag against the wall.
"GIVE ME THE FUCKING KEY!"
With a shaking hand she reaches into her pocket. He rips the key from her grasp and bounds up the stairs.
He hurries to the closet that's been transformed into Constance's little house of mirrors. He unlocks the door and swings it open to see his sister, and what seems like endless reflections of his sister, red face and swollen eyes, tear stained cheeks. She's still screaming.
"Addie, come here. It's alright now. Come here."
She quiets and looks at him, her chest heaving with sobs. He takes her gently by the shoulders and guides her out of the closet.
"Tate!" she cries, her voice hoarse. Her breath hitches with another sob.
"Tate…"
"Shhhh, Addie. Calm down. It's okay." He wraps his arms around her. She grasps on to him. He smoothes his hand over her hair.
"Mom is such a bitch, Tate!" she exclaims into his sweater.
He smiles ruefully. "You don't have to tell me."
"She won't let me play with my friends."
"Why not?"
"Just because they died in here."
"Addie – "
She pulls away from him.
"It's true, Tate! Ask Nora!"
Tate glances behind him to see if Constance is listening. He lowers his voice.
"Addie, those girls are Lawrence's daughters. She doesn't want him to find out they're still here." He wipes her tear-stained cheek with his thumb.
"I hate her!" Addie shouts.
Tate guides Addie to her room and settles her down with a Glamour magazine. She wants to learn how to be a pretty girl. He closes her door gently, and faces Constance who has appeared in the hall.
She puts on one of her sardonic smiles. Her eyes are shiny. She's unsteady in her heels.
"Well, Tate, there you go spoiling your sister again." She puts her hand up to smooth her hair. "It's your fault she's such an insufferable brat."
Tate glares.
"She's got to ponder her reflection for a while. That'll keep her from getting so uppity."
"Why don't you go pass out, Constance."
She stumbles slightly, catching herself on the banister. "It wouldn't hurt for you to spend some time in there." She gestures to the closet. "Just take a good long look at yourself," she says. "Take a good long look at that face. That beautiful face…"
She reaches to touch his cheek. He dodges her hand. "Well, that beauty is a just waste because…well you just seethe anger, Tate. Your eyes are black with it."
Those eyes are trained on her now with an intensity that softens her tone a bit.
"They weren't always that dark, you know," she says. "They've gone black because of the ugliness inside you."
She matches the intensity of his gaze now, her lips curled. "You're an ugly boy, Tate."
He blinks. Waits. She smiles wryly at him and struts down the hall to her room, her hips swinging like she's some fucking bell of the ball. She slams the door behind her.
A sensation, like invisible fingers, caress his cheek, turns his face to the closet. It's door opens a little wider, calling to him. He walks inside, closes the door.
The voices start to dart and dance in his brain.
constance, constance, cocksucker, cunt, tate, taint, taint, tainted, tate, constance, cunt
"Shhh..."
He steadies himself, closing his eyes against his reflection and sucking in deep breaths to keep the voices at bay. But they're seeping in, slithering inside, humming and hissing.
taint, tate, tainted tate, tate is tainted, tate is tainted where's my baby, where's my baby, tate, constance kills cocksuckers, cunts, taint, tate is tainted, tate is tainted, tate, taint
"No, no, no." he whispers, grasping the sides of his head.
TATE IS TAINTED, TATE IS TAINTED, TATE IS TAINTED, TATE IS TAINTED
"Get out!" he cries, "Get out of my head!"
TATE IS TAINTED! CONSTANCE KILLS COCKSUCKERS CUNTS! TAINT KILLS, TATE IS TAINTED! TATE IS TAINTED! TATE IS TAINTED!
He slams a fist into his reflection, slicing his knuckles. It shatters to the floor.
WHERE'S MY BABY, TAINT, TAINT IS COCKSUCKER, CUNT, KILL COCKSUCKER CUNT, WHERE IS BABY TATE, TATE IS TAINTED, TAINT
"Get out!"
He pummels the glass all around him until the shards crunch underneath his boots on the floor and his knuckles are torn and bleeding.
He sinks helplessly to the floor, surrounded by slivers of glass.
WHERE IS BABY TAINT, KILL COCKSUCKER CUNT, TAINT KILL, KILL BABY TATE, WHERE'S MY BABY, WHERE'S MY BABY TAINT, KILL CUNT, TATE IS TAINTED, TATE IS TAINTED, TATE IS TAINTED, TAINTED, TAINTED TATE
He lifts one of the shards, presses it to the inside of his wrist. The delicate skin breaks. He slices across, hissing at the pain. It burns, fuck, it burns, but there, there it is, the blood, hot and red and flowing. He lifts the glass and slashes himself again, the voices receding slightly. The release he feels is like coming. But it's not quite as good.
He drops the glass shard and quickly releases his cock from the confines of his jeans. He rubs his hand into the blood of his wrist and then spits into the palm. He grasps his cock with the gruesomely moistened hand and strokes until he's hard and throbbing.
He pumps desperately as the voices fade to an indecipherable hum. He's close, he's close, he's so close, teeth clench, he rises, he's rising, higher, higher, higher, yes, yes! yes! there it goes – the floor, it falls away, he's flying, he's flying! rising so high, so high, so clean, so kind, it's a light – a light, a light, oh, god, jesus, fuck, the beautiful light! the beautiful…the beautiful…the beautiful…violet light…