A/N: I do not own any of these characters; they belong to their respected writers. I am merely a dreamer with too much time on their hands and a wide vocabulary. Note: Tate Langdon is more than a school shooter in this piece of fiction, he is also a serial killer. Hence why we're thrust into an AU. Enjoy. ~I'm so sorry that I've been away from this story! With the anticipation of the new season and new characters, I've been focused on what's to come rather than what is already there! I will finish this story next chapter to tie up loose ends, and for those who are still reading.

WARNING: This chapter contains mention and scenes of rape. Please procede with caution.

Chapter 9 – The Devil Arrives

It took two weeks for Lisbeth to finally find a lead on the death of Sydney Cooper. It was a Tuesday and Lisbeth had settled herself nicely into the Victorian style house, making herself a small nest that she almost thought of as home. But the constant ringing on her cell phone with Armansky on the other end asking for updates reminded her that this was not home and that she wouldn't see home until she finished up this assignment. Lisbeth cracked down on the investigation, spending hours in the community library, flipping through aging yellow newspapers and torturing her eyes staring at a white screen full of small black text on old news articles. But it was all the same, never anything new.

At first she thought it was left from the previous owner of the house, an heirloom that was overlooked when packing and shuffling into the moving van. Lisbeth had set the gold locket onto the dresser in her room, letting it collect dust as she moved about the room, dressing and smoking and fuming over the frustrations the case was bringing her. It was an insignificant piece of metal that took up no space and no interest to Lisbeth whatsoever. Until she took a look at Sydney Cooper's school photo in the news article of her death while she was eating a bowl of Lucky Charms in the kitchen, once again looking through the photos of the lost souls and the possible murderer.

Around her slender neck was a gold chain, a gold heart dangling from the center and hitting just before the scoop of her sweater. Lisbeth stared at the piece of jewelry, her eyebrow furrowed. It looked so familiar…

She ran up the stairs, skipping over steps, and raced into the bedroom that she had claimed as her own. The sheets were sprawled over the mattress, her clothes scattered across the floor in clumps, with cigarette smoke staining the walls and food wrappers on the nightstand. Lisbeth rushed over to the dresser, the top cluttered with papers and make-up products, and finally found the gold locket scrunched and hidden beneath all of the mess on top.

Settling herself on the bed, Lisbeth examined the locket, the pendant glinting in the rays of sunlight that creeped its way through the window. Lisbeth's lips parted in a small 'o' shape as she examined the necklace in the light, her heart beginning to race. This was it, this is what tied it all together. All she needed was proof that it was Cooper's.

"Pretty thing, isn't it?" Lisbeth froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing up straight. The room had dropped to a significantly low temperature, and suddenly she could see her breath coming out in puffs before her. She craned her neck to look in the doorway to her room and say a boy about 5'10" leaning against the frame, his arms crossed and his brown eyes staring at Lisbeth like a piece of meet. Lisbeth felt like throwing up at her feet.

It was Tate Langdon, the 17-year-old school shooter that had once lived in this house. But he was dead! How was this possible?! Suddenly the taxi driver's voice echoed in her head, and her face fell, her skin turning a shade of pale white.

Tate watched as the young woman examined him, as her mind began to piece together the information that was unfolding before her. He smiled, his eyes shying down to look at his feet, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight. "I've been watching you, Lisbeth Salander," he said, and he took a step into the bedroom.

With the first creak of the floorboards, the first flinch Lisbeth made as she watched the ghostly intruder advance towards her, Tate began to feel the familiar buzz of adrenaline course through his veins. The fear, the uncertainty – it's what drove him completely mad. He licked his lips, taking tentative steps closer to her.

Lisbeth was a fighter. She would yield to no man, and this was not an exception. Except she couldn't feel her legs, and her heart felt like it was ready to burst out of her chest. The locket slipped out of her grasp and fell with a soft clink on the hardwood floor beneath her. It was like everything was in slow motion.

In one swift movement, Tate Langdon was on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head, her eyes wide. His knee pushed her legs open and he let his face nestle in the crook of her neck, taking in the smell of her soap, nicotine, and fear that was soaked in her skin. He shivered, feeling all the blood rush to his head. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he whispered in her ear.

Lisbeth squirmed underneath him, kicking as hard as she could, but Tate's supernatural strength was too much for her, and her mind was suddenly transported back to when she had been raped and tortured in her old guardian's "care". But this was different; just so, so different.

Moira let her eyes peer into the crack in the doorframe as she watched the struggle in front of her. Tate's hand over Lisbeth's mouth, trying to muffle the screams that no one would hear, the soft grunts that escaped his mouth as his hands started to trace down her body and feel her for the first time…

"No, no, please," she begged. Lisbeth did not beg, she did not surrender to anyone. It was the first time she had felt so completely helpless and alone that she could think of no other mechanism but to beg to retain what little sanity she had left. Tate chuckled, his hand running over the slick material of the leather pants that clung to her legs. He could feel her heat, her desire, her want radiating through the thick material and he was starting to grow impatient.

"Begging only makes me harder," he said, and he clawed at the band of her pants until he had ripped it like paper, tearing it into pieces and leaving it scattered on the bed. How funny, he thought. I took Violet's virginity on this very bed. Anger began to cloud his mind at the thought of the blond, at the thought of all the women that had ridiculed him in life and in his death. All he wanted now was to watch them suffer.

"What's makes you so fucking special?" he growled, as his fingers pressed up against the thin cotton panties in between her legs. Tears were springing in Lisbeth's eyes as she watched her attacker hover over her, begin to assault her with rough hands and malice laced in his voice. "What makes you think you can stop me when all those other girls couldn't?" He smiled at her, his face leaning down close to her. Gently, as if he were trying to calm a fussy child, he pressed his lips lightly to her cheek. Lisbeth's breathing started to sway, and she felt like she was ready to pass out.

Moira cringed, letting his words sink into her. She felt Lisbeth's pain, could understand the hurt and the fear that was undoubtedly filling her body. But she could say nothing, do nothing that would make him stop. There never was. She sunk into the foundation of the house, cowering in shame.

With one hand, Tate undid the buckle of his belt, and with the sound of the rough snap of the button of his jeans and the harsh sound of the zipper coming down, Lisbeth screamed harder against the palm of his hand. Tate bit down on his bottom lip as he grabbed himself, pushing her legs open farther and pressing the tip of his manhood against the fabric of her underwear. He closed his eyes, his lips parted, groaning as he felt the heat coming from her.

"This is better than I imagined," he said, as he slipped himself inside of her with a forceful push. Libseth arched her back and screamed against his hand, an ice cold pick digging itself into her body and fire burning her skin. She could feel her flesh beginning to sear and sizzle and she begged, prayed, pleaded to an unknown god to save her and end the unbearable pain her body was enduring as Tate began to thrust into her with such angered force it shook the bed.

His grunts filled the room, the slapping of their skin echoed in their ears, and the tears that began to stream down Lisbeth's face stained the palm of Tate's hand and sent him over the edge. He came inside her, feeling her walls close in around him, and he collapsed on top of her, his hand slipping from her mouth, letting her gasps and hiccups free themselves.

Tate grew limp, wiggling himself off of her and leaning over her as she melted into the bed. "Now you're mine," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot, but his presence was ice cold, and Lisbeth felt like she was drowning. Her entire body felt like it had been beaten and cut apart and now all she could do was wait for death to take her. She blinked at him, unable to speak or move or make any sort of sign that she heard his threat, his promise, his statement of his ownership over the body that lay before him. He smiled down at her, placing his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

"Until we meet again," he said, and he disappeared without a sound, just like he had appeared in the first place.