Murder House

1983

Santana Lopez hummed a tune to herself as she made up the bed in the Master Bedroom, trying to ignore how high up her skirt was riding up – she felt exposed like this, and she didn't like it.

From the corner of her eye she saw Rod – Sue's newest man – watching her work, a drink in his hand. "Don't stop," He insisted, making a pleasured face.

"I'll be finished in her in a minute," She muttered, hurrying up to tuck in the edges of the duvet.

"Why?" Santana felt a chill run down her spine as the older man stepped closer. "It'd be such a shame to waste a beautiful bed." He drained his glass of beer and put it on the dresser before coming up behind Santana. He put his hands on her ass, running them down her legs.

"Don't!" Santana snapped, trying not to get angry or upset. "Stop it!" She pulled away from him, staggering a little in her shoes. "You're drunk! Please, I really need this job..."

Rod snorted as he took another step closer to her. "Well, you liked it the last time."

"That was a mistake," Santana admitted, tears in her brown eyes. "I was just lonely."

Rod just stared at the maid, lust in his eyes. "Do you want a Volvo?" Santana rolled her eyes, desperately wanting him to understand what was going on. "I can buy you one, if that's what it takes."

"No," Santana sighed. "I-"

She was cut off by Rod grabbing her; she screamed out as he threw her onto the freshly made bed, his hand over her mouth so that her sobs were muffled. His other hands reached down to unbutton his trousers and pull them down.

From outside in the hallway, someone had heard what was going on.

As Santana continued to squirm and cry, the person walked into the room. Neither of them noticed that she was there until there was a gunshot and the shatter of a window.

Rod yanked himself off of Santana, who sat herself up with a terrified expression on her face. Sue came to stand in front of them, looking hurt and angry. Rod pulled his pants up, his breathing harsh.

Sue looked between them, and raised the gun; she shot Santana in the eye, causing the Latina maid to fall off of the bed, blood spattering the wall behind where her head had been. The older woman turned to look at Rod, shaking her head in disgust. "I thought we were exclusive."

"Sue..." Rod tried. "Please put the gun down..."

Sue didn't; she raised her arm again and shot three times into Rod's chest.

2010

"I am just horrified for you and your family," Marcy said, although her tone didn't indicate it. Carole rolled her eyes at the other woman's brittle tone, and set a cup of coffee in front of the realtor. "I hardly know what to say, really. And I can just imagine how you might be feeling anxious given all of the-"

"Nope," Carole denied sitting down with her own cup of tea – she'd stopped drinking coffee on Kurt's advice because of the baby. "Not anxious. I'm angry."

"You know, that's how I felt when the boys did...well, you know what they did," She stirred her coffee. "We'd gotten rather close – they'd have me over for Bloody Marys, and omelettes on a Sunday." She paused. "So to find out what nasty little perverts they were-"

Carole choked on her tea.

"-You've probably heard about the poker from the fireplace being rammed up-"

"Marcy!" Carole interrupted, feeling very uncomfortable with this conversation. She sighed and continued with her request. "We have to put this house back on the market. And we have to make back everything we've put into it...we just can't afford-"

"You know," Marcy chimed in lightly. "You might want to lower your expectations a little bit; prices on the housing market are dropping daily. And these things aren't about to change until 2013 when we vote that vomit out-"

Carole shook her head, not taking this for an answer. "Well, here's the bottom line." The older woman looked at her, listening with a slightly confused face. "You owe my family. Under the law, you are obligated to disclose any facts that might have influenced our decision to buy this house."

"Excuse me, dear," Marcy snapped, not used to getting talked to like this. "But the law actually requires us to disclose any death on the premises within the last three years. I did that." She took a deep breath and looked down at her cup of coffee. "Nobody's buying me cooking classes, Mrs Whatever-Your-Name-Is."

"Hudson-Hummel."

"Whatever. Nobody's looking out for me!" Marcy furrowed her eyebrows, lifting her cup off the table and looking at her client seriously. "Do you know where I live? I live in a three hundred and fifty square foot guest-house." She sat back, giving a heavy sigh. "I'd kill to live in this house, regardless of the history!" She took a sip of coffee, and Carole put her head in her hands, trying not to stress too much because of the baby. "You know, you probably need a more season realtor, someone who's more specialized-"

"Oh?" Carole remarked sassily. "You think you were my first call? I called every realtor in this city this morning, but you know what? No one will take this listing, so here's the plan. You are going to bake cookies; you are going to go buy beautiful and expensive fresh-cut flowers; you are going to make up some nice stories about all the lovely people who have lived here! You are going to do whatever it takes, and you are going to sell this house." She smiled snarkily at the older woman. "And then me and my family are going to go and live someplace safe, and in return, I won't sue you for gross criminal negligence."

Marcy was stunned into silence by this outburst; it was clear she'd never been spoken to like that before.

"So," Carole said lightly. "Are we on the same page?" Marcy nodded quickly, eyes wide. "Good. See, someone's looking out for you."

As Burt took a sniff of the coffee in the pot, trying to decide if he could drink it, he heard a gravelly voice from behind him say, "It's fresh. I just made it."

He put the coffee down and found himself face-to-face with Santana, wearing her sexy maid's uniform as usual. She looked at him through heavily-lidded eyes, and slid a mug towards him. Keeping his eyes away from hers, he took the cup and poured himself his coffee; he could feel Santana's gaze on him, and tried not to heat up at the thought of her staring at him.

As he put the pot down on the counter, Santana gave him one last smile and walked away to continue her jobs.

Sue didn't often sneak into other people's houses – but then again, it wasn't as if this house wasn't her house. She used to live there not too long ago, and so she technically had rights to come and go whenever she wanted to.

Humming to herself as she opened up a box of cutlery, she didn't realise that someone else had entered the room. It was only when she had picked up a shiny looking spoon that she heard a knock on the door, and she spun around to see who had interrupted her.

"Oh," She said casually when she saw it was just an elderly Santana. "It's just you." Sue picked up a couple of knives as Santana stepped closer to her, glaring at her harshly. "Do me a favour, would you? Go polish these so I can take them home." She smirked at the Latina woman. "It's ruddy with corrosion. You wanna know why? Because you're a shitty maid."

Santana grabbed the knives out of Sue's hand, not saying anything. She started to polish them, one-by-one, with the white apron on her skirt. "Let me guess; you're going to add these to your magpie stash?"

"Until I have a full-set," Sue agreed, picking out more knives and forks from the box. "And then I'll auction them off on e-Bay, and earn myself a bit of money. Meanwhile, you'll be accused of theft, and fired." Sue grinned at the idea, clearly pleased with herself. She continued to talk as she walked to leave the house, taking pleasure in teasing the younger woman. "After all, you are a thief, Santana; of biblical proportions, in fact." Santana stopped walking, leaning against the wall. Sue turned around to look at her. "Your specialty, if I remember correctly, is weak-willed boyfriends."

As Sue started to walk away, Santana lost it; she threw down the cutlery in her hand with great force, her face screwing up. "I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!" She screamed, and Sue turned to look at her again. "I'm frightened! I miss my mother!"

"You think I wanna stay here?" Sue challenged, walking forwards and frowning. "Sandbags, I have no choice! Now, try to find some dignity in the situation. Move on."

"I can't!" Santana sobbed, her voice low and weak. "I want to, but I can't!"

Sue scoffed. "Every time I look at you, I actually start to feel just a little sorry for you..." She paused, shaking her head to clear it. "But then I remember that you made this mess for yourself. And I also remember..." Sue smirked again, clearly getting her confidence back. "Every time I see that ghostly eye of yours...that I was, and continue to be one hell of a shot."

Santana bowed her head, not wanting to give Sue the satisfaction of staring at her eye. "You need to pay for what you've done."

Sue took a deep breath. "Oh, I do. Everyday."

She walked off, leaving the maid leaning against the wall surrounded by cutlery.

The last thing Burt wanted to see when he walked in through the door after a long day of job-hunting was the maid cleaning with her ass high in the air, her skirt hitched up so that he could see her underwear. "Santana...what are you doing?"

Santana turned to look at him, shifting her legs so that they were further apart. "Why, I'm cleaning the floor Mister Hummel. I mean, who'd want it to be...dirty."

Burt sighed, not wanting to have to deal with this as soon as he got home. "Alright, fine-"

"You see, Mister Hummel," Santana purred, rotating her hips on the spot. "I'm very discreet if anyone asks...very discreet." Burt shook his head, and walked past her to go to the Front Room to sit down. "Don't worry," Santana told him, standing up to follow him. "I did this room first, so it's all clean." She smirked, coming up right behind him so that he was trapped. "I got all of the stains...Do you want to make a new one?"

Holy Shit.

Burt turned around to look at her. "Santana..." Santana ignored him, moving in even closer. "Look, get away from me."

"Oh, but don't you think about it?" Santana teased, putting a manicured hand on his arm. "Don't you think about the blood...pumping, rushing..." She put her arms around his waist, her intentions clear. "Think of it filling you up...filling us both up..."

"I'M DONE WITH THIS!" He yelled, managing to grab her arms and shake her harshly. "Stop harassing me, Santana! You know what? You're fired!"

"What the Hell are you doing?"

Burt and Santana both turned to look at Carole; all she could see was her husband gripping their elderly maid tightly.

"I didn't want to get physical with her!" Burt insisted, trying to ignore the way his wife was glaring at him. "I had no choice, Carole, I swear! I mean, I've rebuffed every single one of her advances – and believe me, there are lots of them – but she just won't stop!" He glared at Santana, who was just staring at him in a confused manner. "With her unbuttoning...and bending over!" He gave up, throwing his hands onto the counter.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous," Santana said callously, clearly angered by what was being said against her. "But my days of romance are well over."

"Oh please," Burt scoffed, leaning against the counter and sneering. "The way you prance around in that little maid's outfit like you're headed to a fetish ball...Don't wanna clean people's houses in your own clothes my ass!"

Carole shook her head, not sure what to say to him anymore. "Burt, it's okay. Really."

"Madam," Santana started, her voice very morose. "I'm not naive to the ways of men. They need to objectify, conquer...they see what they want to see." At this, she side-eyed Burt, who just sighed. "Women, however, see into the soul of a person."

"Is this what you do?" Burt snapped, looking lost. "Entrap employers?"

Santana lifted her head, trying to appear proud. "That said, I understand that you two are under a lot of stress; money, the baby, what happened here the other night. I don't mean to listen, but the walls here are paper thin. This unfortunate incident aside, I am happy to work for the two of you. I certainly need the money – times are tough. You know what, I'm perfectly happy to forget the whole thing."

Burt obviously didn't like this idea, and squirmed on the spot uncomfortably. Carole bit her lip, deciding that she was going to have to be the one to say something. "Well, Santana, it might just be better...if you-"

"Just leave?!" Santana interrupted, looking hurt and angry. "JUST TOSS ME OUT LIKE A PIECE OF TRASH?! No, you won't! Not this time, I deserve respect!" She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself while Carole just stared at her. She took a look at Burt, glaring at him with tired eyes. "If your husband lays a hand on me again, or tries to fire me with unjust cause, I will press charges!"

Neither of the adults said anything to her. Santana took another deep breath, and turned to leave. "I changed the sheets in your bedroom," She informed them civilly. "There are fresh towels in the downstairs bathroom. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a longer lunch than usual..."

Burt blinked at her, trying to get his head around how deep her voice dropped as she fluttered her eyelashes.

"I'm quite shaken," She murmured before quickly winking at him.

Burt shook his head slowly, not sure what the hell was going on. "She's lying," He said, hoping that his wife would believe him. "I knew we shouldn't have hired her in the first place, I knew it."

"You know what I think?" Carole muttered, not even looking at him. "I think that your short trip to Lima has tired you out. And I think that you're acting out and being paranoid and crazy...and you have to get it together." She took a deep breath. "And then we have to get out of this house. I'd like to do that without a lawsuit."

She walked away, leaving him to stare at the countertop.

Carole had been gardening when she'd found out. Just as she was clipping the roses at the bottom of the garden, she'd heard some sort of music playing – moments later, someone had started speaking, and she looked up to see what was going on.

"And the next stop on our Tour of Departed Souls," A man said, and Carole squinted in the sunlight to get a good look at what was happening. "Gem of Midtown, Murder House."

Moments later, a tour bus had pulled up; people had started to pull out their cameras, and were taking pictures of something...

Of the house.

Finn panicked slightly as he heard someone slam the door to the house – he thought everyone had gone. He quickly shuffled to try and hide behind the pillar he was leaning against, but it was too late.

"Relax," He heard his step-father say. "I'm not here to bust you."

Finn stared at him, sort of confused by why he wasn't in trouble. "Why not?"

Burt sighed. "Last week was pretty tough...the abortion, your mother and Kurt getting attacked while we were gone...it can't be easy on you."

"I'm fine," Finn mumbled, wanting to be left alone. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," Burt gave in. "But if you ever want to talk to somebody, Finn-"

"Okay," Finn interrupted, waiting for him to leave. "I get it, and I'll think about it."

Burt nodded in agreement, walking away from the tall teenager. Finn watched him leave, not quite used to having a fatherly figure to look up to.

"You're really lucky," Rachel said softly, suddenly appearing from nowhere. "He seems like a great dad...or step-dad, in your case. You can tell he really cares."

Finn nodded in agreement. "Yeah. He does."

One of the disadvantages of skipping school, Finn realised quickly, was that when both his parents were out, he was left home alone.

The doorbell went off about five minutes after Burt had left to go job-hunting again. Thinking it was Rachel wanting to hang out again, he ran to open the door. "I'm sorry I took so long, I thought you wanted to..."

He trailed off when he saw who it was. Quinn.

"What are you doing here?" Finn asked, feeling as though his legs were about to collapse from underneath him.

"I'm not stupid, Finn," Quinn muttered, making her way into the house. "I saw you and that brunette bimbo of yours." She smiled at him as he shut the door. "I just wanna talk."

"In my house?" Finn asked incredulously. "I called you hundreds of times..."

"You left me there, Finn," Quinn reminded him icily. "Without a word. By myself."

Finn sighed. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I told you in my messages...we had a home invasion here. We had to come back."

Quinn didn't say anything, and Finn remembered suddenly about the abortion.

"Did everything go alright?" He asked awkwardly.

Quinn smiled again. "Oh, I didn't have the abortion."

Finn's heart stopped beating. "What?"

"I decided to keep the baby," Quinn said, smiling even more. "Our baby. I'm moving here. And, of course, you're paying. You're going to be a father to our child. I've already started looking for a place for us..."

Finn shook his head, trying to process everything. "Quinn...you really haven't thought this through. I have a new girlfriend now...Rachel...and I love her a lot. And as for support...Quinn, I'm only seventeen! I have no money!"

"I'm not a whore," Quinn told him, taking a step closer to him. "I matter, Finn."

"I kn-"

"I MATTER!" She yelled, getting angry. Finn stopped talking immediately. The doorbell went off again, and Finn panicked in case it really was Rachel.

Taking a deep breath, he took one last look at Quinn and turned back to open the door. He found himself face to face with one of the detectives who'd been interviewing him and his family last week. "Are you Mister Hummel?"

Finn shook his head quickly. "Uh, no. I'm his step-son."

"Finn Hudson?" The Doctor checked, and the tall teenager nodded. "I'm Detective Joe Colquitt. May I have a moment of your time?"

From behind him, Quinn appeared. "The Detective wants to talk to me," Finn muttered to her, feeling embarrassed that the person at the door was watching.

"Fine," Quinn gave in. "Meet me tomorrow for lunch at one o'clock. There's a Norms down the street." She walked past him and the Detective, not looking back.

A cocky young man strode down the back alleyway, well aware that someone was following him. After a few more steps, he turned around to look at the other man. "Change your mind?"

The man frowned. "No."

"No?" He rose an eyebrow, taking a step in closer to the taller man.

"I ain't no faggot."

The shorter man smirked cockily as he looked down between them and up again. "That's not what your dick says."

The tall man looked down and up again; suddenly, he reached out to bring the small man into a headlock, repeatedly punching his head with the other hand. He shoved him up against a wall, pulling out a knife.

"Easy man!" The gay young man said. "You were cruising me! I thought you were fair game."

This just enraged the attacker even further. "Cruising you my ass!" He lurched forwards, fighting the other man's struggle and stabbing him in the chest repeatedly.

When he pulled away, he was panting harshly; his victim fell to the floor, weak from blood loss...

"Sal Mineo was thirty-seven years old when he died. Golden Globe Winner and two-time Oscar Nominee, his father was a coffin maker who never accepted that his son was gay. They sent away a petty criminal African American named Lionel Ray Williams for the murder, calling it a robbery gone wrong. But you'll find a hard time finding anybody who believes that in this town. Most people believe that Sal Mineo died of a hate crime."

Carole couldn't help but shiver slightly, despite the fact that it was warm and sunny outside. Maybe it was just because her step-son was gay himself, or maybe it was the hormones getting to her.

"Our tour concludes with one of the most famous house of horrors in the City of Angels," Their tour guide concluded as the tour bus stopped at another site – their house. "Better known as Murder House..."

Carole stared at the house as the tour guide continued talking, completely entranced by the history she was hearing.

"Built in 1922 by Doctor William Schuester, acclaimed surgeon to the stars, for his wife Terri, a prominent east-coast socialite..."

"Will!"

"But when Doctor Schuester fell on hard times, he turned to drugs..."

A man poured the medicine onto his wad of cloth, and inhaled deeply.

"...And he developed a terrifying Frankenstein obsession..."

In Will's office, there were many jars; dead animals, foetuses, insects... The office was located downstairs in the basement, away from society and his wife's judgemental eyes.

"Will?" Terri called, wandering throughout the house hurriedly. "Will!"

Downstairs, Will continued with his experiment, ignoring his wife's calls for him. He stared intently at the wing he was trying to sew onto the dead pig, a small smile creeping onto his face as he realised he was doing it right so far.

"Dammit, Will, are you down in the basement again?" Terri grabbed at the door handle, yanking it open and starting to storm downstairs. "Will?!"

"For God's Sake!" The curly-haired man snapped, spinning around to glare at his wife. "I'M WORKING!"

"Working," Terri sneered from the top of the steps. "I wish. Now, come upstairs for dinner. You've made us wait five whole minutes!"

Will turned back to his creation as his wife walked back upstairs, her shoes clicking and echoing around the dark room. Suddenly, he yelled out and tore the wing out of the pig's side. "You've ruined it," He snarled, reaching for his cloth of ether and inhaling deeply.

Will jerked upwards when the baby banged its rattle against the side of its plate, gurgling loudly. God, he hated that baby. He smirked at Terri when he realised what he was wearing. "What have you done to that baby? I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl."

Terri gave a high-pitched laugh, pouring more wine into her glass. "You're a disgrace, Will. How you can call yourself a man...is beyond me." As the baby started to cry and Will stared at her, it all came out into the open. "You think I came here from Philadelphia for...for this? This life, this...house."

"I built you this house," Will grumbled, not happy with where this was going. "Exactly the way you wanted it."

"And how many servants do we have?" She questioned, looking around. "Two?!" As Will stood up, Terri carried on talking, clearly sick of having to have bottled this up. "And I'm expected to do everything else?" Will ignored her, and went to grab the wine bottle, pouring more into his half-filled glass. "Good, Will. Drink your talent away. You're a waste. Even looking at you, I find myself sick to my stomach."

Will looked down at her. "You'll see. They will write articles about me one day. Especially in the Boston Medical Journal." He raised his glass to drink from it.

"HA!" Terri taunted, leaning forwards with a malicious glint in her eyes. This was clearly the last straw for Will, and he suddenly threw his glass down onto the table, smashing it and spilling liquid everywhere. "HaHa! Good job, Will! Break everything!"

As the baby started to wail loudly, screaming and screwing his face up until it was red. Terri sighed, and put her head in her hands. When Will didn't make a move to do anything, Terri picked up the little bell next to her plate and rang it loudly.

Moments later, a nursemaid came into the room, heading straight for the baby. "Stephanie!" Terri scolded the maid. "When you hear him crying, you have to come in straight away and take him upstairs!"

"Yes, M'am," Stephanie said, picking up the baby and cradling him while murmuring sweet nothings in his ear.

As she left, Will walked around to the other end of the table, looking down at the floor, and sat back down in his seat. "They came again today," Terri murmured brokenly, her eyes gazing into nothing. "The bell-collectors." When Will didn't say anything, she got quickly got angry. "Will! Do you hear me?!"

"I'm not deaf!" Will snapped.

"You listen to me," Terri muttered, leaning forwards so that he could definitely hear her. "You are going to support this family, one way or another. I've arranged for a girl to come to this house tomorrow morning with sixty dollars cash." Terri took a deep breath. "She's in trouble...she probably has friends...so you better not screw up."

"...An estimated two dozen girls went under Doctor Schuester's knife, thanks to his wife Terri," The tour guide concluded, and Carole felt her stomach churn even more. She wasn't sure if she was meant to feel this sick during her pregnancy, especially so early. "But the souls of the little ones must have weighed heavily upon them as their reign of terror climaxed in a shocking finale in 1926."

Carole didn't get to hear anymore...the bad feeling had spread downwards to her crotch, and she looked down when she felt a dampness pressing across her pelvis and thighs. She jumped in shock as she saw a lot of blood in her white trousers, and quickly looked for a way to get out of the tour bus.

Thinking quickly, she pulled her cardigan off, tied it around her waist so that no one could see the stain, and quickly stood up to open the door that was luckily next to where she was sitting. She jumped down, ignoring the looks that the tourists were giving her, and ran to the house quickly.

"You can't go in there, M'am!" The tour guide called.

She turned her head, not even pausing in her running. "This is my house!"

"Okay," The Doctor said cheerfully, looking through the results as she sat down in her seat across from the couple. "So...the mother's health looks good...the uterus looks good...and the baby looks good."

"So I didn't miscarry?" Carole checked hopefully, clenching onto Burt's hand tighter.

"Nope," The Doctor informed her, giving her a small smile. "Just a little spotting. You say that it stopped after a few minutes?"

Carole nodded, somewhat suspicious of the circumstances it had been under. "Right after I went into the house..."

The Doctor shrugged, smiling even more. "Well, when you're pregnant, you have fifty percent more blood in your body. A little discharge is perfectly normal."

"So if this happens again, we don't need to worry?" Burt asked, slumping back into his chair out of relief.

"No, definitely not," The nurse agreed. "No worrying. Worrying is bad for Mommy, which is bad for the baby." When the two adults just shared a look, the Doctor sat back. "Uh-oh. Have you been worrying more than you should?"

"Well..." Carole admitted, flushing a little. "Recently there was...there were some issues in our house. But we're putting it back on the market, so-"

"Read my lips," The younger woman interrupted. "No. Moving." Carole stared up at her, confused. "Not while you're pregnant. Death, divorce and moving; these are the three most stressful events a person can experience. We don't want any stress that could affect the baby." She smiled at the two, obviously hoping she'd gotten her message through. "I think you two should go out for a nice big lunch."

Sue snorted to herself as she walked down the road; she could see the peppy realtor putting up a 'For Sale' sign outside of the Murder House; yeah, good luck.

She stopped walking, however, when she looked up at the house and saw him; Blaine was standing, looking out of one of the upstairs windows. Her smirk disappeared, and she awkwardly lifted her hand as a way of greeting at him.

Blaine frowned, stepping back and walking away from the window.

Sue dropped her hand quickly and carried on walking. She noticed that the realtor had been staring at her, and rolled her eyes slightly to get back her confidence. "Heh. Good Luck selling this lemon," She remarked, gesturing towards the house as she walked past.

"Leave me alone."

"Dude! I helped you out of a sticky situation!" Finn snapped around to look at Puck. "You owe me big time!"

"I don't owe you anything!" Finn snarled, getting annoyed with all the crap he was having to deal with. "I'm not speaking to you."

Puck smirked. "Oh, I see...the little adventure to Lima didn't go too well, did it? Is that chick still giving you grief? Do you want me to sort her out?"

"It's none of your business," Finn growled as he started to walk away. "My life is none of your business. Now just leave me alone!"

"I will!" Puck promised, running to keep up with Finn's long strides. "But I just need you to do something for me!" He coughed. "I need a thousand dollars."

Finn halted to a complete stop. "What?! Are you crazy? Why the Hell would you need a thousand dollars?"

"I'm starting a band," Puck bragged smugly. "We need the money to get started, and then we're gonna hit the big time."

"I'm not giving you a thousand dollars!" The tall teen turned to face Puck. "Listen to me; don't come near me! Don't go near my step-brother or our parents! If you bother me again, I'll call the police! You understand?!"

He didn't wait for an answer though; he strode away again, leaving the scarred teen standing on his own.

Carole had been looking through a newspaper to see if there were any ideal houses for sale when the doorbell rang. She put her pen down on the counter and walked down the hallway.

She was still, honestly, quite nervous about opening the door; whenever the doorbell rang, she kept on getting flashes of the constant ringing of the doorbell before the invasion, and it terrified her still. Because of this, she decided to peep through the peephole first, just in case. "Hello?"

She could see a woman; she was dressed in rather old-fashioned clothes, and appeared to be quite a bit jumpy. "Are you the woman of the house?"

"Are you here to look at the house? Did you have an appointment?"

The woman blinked, making her mind up quickly. "Yes."

Carole hesitated before speaking again. "Well, you'll have to call the realtor."

"Oh," The woman nodded slowly. "Okay. I can come back another time..."

It was in that moment that Carole started to feel sorry for this woman; hesitance still getting the better of her, she dropped down from her tiptoes and made sure to grab a nearby statuette from the table next to the door. She hid it behind her back and unlocked the door to let the woman in. "Wait," She prompted softly, seeing that the woman had already turned away. "Come in."

The woman gave her a small smile, stepping into the house and looking around in wonder.

"My husband's upstairs," Carole informed her as she shut the door, just in case the stranger wanted to try anything.

The woman smiled, as if overcome by something. "Oh...this wood...it's so lovely and warm." She looked around in awe. "One almost never sees chestnut anymore."

Carole nodded slowly, lowering the object from behind her back slowly. "Yeah...I never really knew what kind of wood this wa-"

"And that's Louis Comfort Tiffany glass!" The younger woman exclaimed, beaming even more. "Inspired by the iridescence of butterfly wings, you see."

Carole's eyes widened, and she wondered how the hell she could possible know that.

"Oh, look at the blue." She turned to look at Carole, half-posing. "It matches my eyes, doesn't it?"

Oh, it does... Carole mused, honestly speechless by the knowledge of the house this woman was presenting.

The other woman leaned forwards. "Your eyes are a beautiful colour too."

"Oh, thank you..."

The woman smiled, pointing upwards. "And this must be one of the chandeliers imported from New York."

"Oh, yeah," Carole confirmed. "There's four of them. Um...do you want to see the kitchen?" The woman nodded, following after Carole further into the house. "As you can see, we modernized it quite a bit..."

The younger woman had stopped dead in her tracks; she looked around with wide eyes as she took in the new additions the kitchen, going quite pale. "I...I don't like this, it's not right. It's not what I want." She looked over Carole's shoulder. "W-What's that device?"

Carole looked. "Oh...that? That's a Pasta Arm...It's for filling up big pots of water." The woman looked down at the floor, her hands shaking. "Tell you what; if you decide you want the house, I'll make sure we have it removed."

"D-Do you think I could have a glass of water?" The lady asked, her voice sounding quite dry.

"Oh, yeah, of course...Unless you want some tea? I-I was making some tea before..."

"A-Alright," The woman stuttered out, sitting down gingerly on one of the chairs in the kitchen. As Carole went to pour out the drinks, she heard the other woman stutter out, "D-D-Do you have children?"

"Why, yes," Carole answered, turning around to give her the cup. "In fact, I have a son, a step-son...and I'm pregnant right now."

The stranger nodded slowly, her smile fading slowly. "I had a child once."

Carole was about to say something, but was cut off from her phone buzzing behind her. Turning away for a moment, she looked at the text – from Finn, saying that he'd be back late because he was with a friend- and then back at where the other lady had been sitting.

The other lady was gone.

Kurt really hated this. He tried not let out a groan as their realtor – a young twenty-something year old with a belly button ring – showed them around what looked to be a very modern but dirty apartment.

"So, as I mentioned on the phone, the carpet will be steam-cleaned before move-in. There's a dock there for your iPod or your i-Whatever..." She turned to face them, obviously waiting for their opinion.

"Well," Carole said tactfully. "I like that security guy at the door..."

"Excuse me," Kurt interrupted, rolling his eyes at the apartment. "Can me and Carole just have a quick talk? Alone."

"Sure," The young woman said, clearly not bothered. "I'll just be downstairs in the rental office. Oh, and I've got someone else coming in twenty minutes."

As soon as she'd gone, Kurt turned to his step-mother with a 'bitch-please' face. "You know what, I'm so glad that we moved all the way to California since we could be anywhere..."

"I think this has a certain-"

"You and my Dad dragged Finn and I from Ohio all the way out here," Kurt snapped. "You said that it would be a new start as a family."

"I don't think you've quite processed what happened to us in that house," Carole retorted, shaking her head slightly. "It was devastating, Kurt...That was a nightmare."

"This place is the nightmare!" The teenager argued, looking around with annoyance. "I love our house; it's got soul! It's where you and I kicked some ass, Carole...You say that we're the victims of something bad there, but it's really the place that we survived."

Carole took a deep breath, trying to reason with him. "Honey, I love that you see it that way. But I'm pregnant, and I just can't stay there. This is the decision that your Dad and I have made for this family..."

"Whatever," Kurt bit out, turning away from her. "But I'm telling you, if you go ahead with this stupid plan, then I'm out of here. I'll run away – Finn will too. He loves our house just as much as I do."

Deciding not to say anymore, he walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Finn was going to crack; he could feel it. The guilt about not telling Rachel was eating him inside, and he knew that she was definitely aware that something was up with him. He was stressed because Kurt had suddenly stopped hanging around with him, and now he had no one to help him understand his homework.

His frustration only increased when the doorbell went off. His Mom and Kurt had gone out to view some houses, Burt was out looking for a job again, and Rachel had told him that she needed to see a family member, so he was confused as to who would be ringing the doorbell at this time.

Anger taking over him, he strode up to the front door and yanked it open. His mouth fell open as he found himself facing his ex-girlfriend, who did not look pleased. "Oh my God...Quinn..." Opening the door further, he started to babble out apologies. "I'm so sorry, Quinn, I-"

"You left me waiting in the Norms for three hours!" Quinn snarled, storming inside the house. "Is your little girlfriend here?"

"Quinn..."

"Her name's Rachel, isn't it?" Quinn demanded, not waiting for him to answer before she continued. "RACHEL! ARE YOU HERE?!"

"Stop acting crazy!" Finn pleaded.

Quinn spun around to look at him. "Do not call me crazy!"

"Calm down..."

"I'm not crazy, I'm angry!" Quinn seethed, turning away again. "Where is she? She needs to know! RACHEL!"

Finn reached out, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Quinn, you need to-"

"DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME!" Quinn yelled, spinning around again and panting harshly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and Finn knew he was going to have to be calm with her.

"You're upset," He guessed, and she nodded. "You have every right to be, but before this spins completely out of control, we need to go someplace to have a talk."

"I want her to know," Quinn demanded. "She needs to understand that you have other obligations!" As Finn nodded, she stepped closer to him. "I think we should tell her together."

Finn hesitated. "We can discuss that too."

Quinn shook her head, her emotions overcoming her. "I'm not going back to that Norms."

"Okay, fine," Finn agreed. "We can go wherever, I don't care."

Quinn slowly started to smile, eyes bright again. "Well...I am eating for two." When Finn didn't say anything, she leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips. When her tongue started trying to enter his mouth, she pushed her away gently.

"L-Let's just go and talk," He mumbled, going red.

"You know what I'd love?" Quinn questioned as they walked out the door. "A big, fat juicy-"

BANG!

Before she could finish, someone had hit her in the face with a shovel; she dropped to the floor, completely knocked out. Finn looked up, only to see that Puck was standing there, looking down at her with a shovel in his hand.

"Hmm...no," Puck said decisively. "She's still moving." Before Finn could react, Puck had brought down the shovel on Quinn's face again and again.

Finn, completely in shock, moved forwards, grabbing Puck by the front of his shirt and shoving him onto the grass behind. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Without thinking, he started punching the other teenager violently.

"Easy!" Puck choked, bringing his hands up to his face to defend himself. Managing to gain the upper hand, he shoved Finn off of him into the grass, and the taller teen got a look at the now limp body of his ex-girlfriend .

"Shit!" He rushed over to her, stumbling slightly, and bent down to check to see if she was breathing. She wasn't.

Puck appeared from behind him. "Yeah...she's dead."

Finn couldn't help it; he started hyperventilating, mumbling out "oh God oh God" over and over again as he tried to lift Quinn's body from the floor. "What the Hell are you doing, man?" Puck asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Taking a DNA bath?"

Finn looked up at him, and his eyes narrowed. "She's dead," He hissed out, panting harshly. "You're a murderer! YOU'RE A MURDERER!"

"Yeah...but you're not," Puck pointed out, eyes glinting slightly. "And now all of your problems are solved. She was going to tell your girlfriend everything...we couldn't have that!"

"I-I-I'm gonna call the Police," The tall teen decided lamely, looking around with lost eyes. He dropped Quinn's body back to the floor and scrambled to stand up.

"Are you sure you wanna do that?" The scarred teen asked, and Finn stopped in his tracks. "She was your ex-girlfriend, dude. And she was carrying your baby. I mean, how is that going to look?"

Finn realised Puck was right, and started to cry.

"I just don't see that going well for you." Deciding to change his tactics, he stepped forwards and put a hand on Finn's wrist. "Hey, it's gonna be alright, dude..."

Finn jerked away from Puck's touch, feeling as though he was having a breakdown.

"You just gotta get yourself cleaned up," The mohawked teenager advised, giving him a small smile. "Before anyone from your family gets back." He pointed to himself. "I'll take care of the body. It's not a problem."

He turned away from Finn and towards the dead body of Quinn, figuring out how to pick up the body and where to put it. As Finn started to shake, the other teenager walked across the yard to grab a shovel, and started to survey the soil nearby.

Oh my God...what the Hell am I going to do?

"Hey!" Puck called over cheerfully. "The soil here's pretty toxic! Why don't we just dig it up and dump the body there?"

Finn didn't answer, instead getting down on his knees in front of Quinn's body and feeling her wrist; he was still desperately hoping that she had a pulse, even if it was a weak one. No luck.

"Hey, Finn?" Puck called, and Finn looked back up. "I could really use that thousand bucks."

The process of burying Quinn was a difficult one; when Finn went inside the house to get cleaned up, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Knowing he'd never make it to the bathroom on time, he threw himself at the kitchen sink and puked his lunch back up.

Outside, Puck had managed to get a good start on digging a large hole. As he dug the shovel back into the dirt, however, he hit something solid. Frowning, he bent down and moved the soil with his hands. He stopped when he realised he was touching the remains of a dead body, and bowed his head slightly in respect.

From upstairs in the house, Santana had been watching. Her face crumpled up as she watched the teenager discover her dead remains, and a small part of her hoped he was going to remove the remains.

Deciding that this hole was deep enough, he pulled Quinn's dead corpse into the hole, laying her down in a somewhat dignified position next to the skeleton he'd discovered. He took a moment to sigh as he surveyed the bodies, his shoulders slumping before he grabbed his shovel again and started to fill in the hole.

After the hole had been filled in, it was clear that they couldn't just leave the earth overturned like that. Puck suggested that Finn should build a gazebo over the graves, and Finn agreed monotonously.

After Puck had left, Burt had been the first to come home. "I want to build a gazebo," Finn stated before the man could even open his mouth to greet him. "I think it would look nice...especially since I was trying to garden earlier but I got...carried away. The gazebo could cover it."

Surprisingly, Burt agreed without questioning. They managed to find the materials they needed in the basement, and the tools in the shed, and then the two men started to work.

Watching from the window, Santana didn't say anything when Sue appeared from behind her, folding her arms as she watched the scene in interest. "Poor girl," She muttered, although she was smirking slightly. Santana's face was starting to screw up again as she fought back tears.

As Burt and Finn started to spread concrete over the overturned mud, the older woman leaned closer to the maid. "Now you're stuck here forever." Santana shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks as she cried.

When Carole and Kurt had arrived home later from their day of house-searching, the two men had managed to start putting the wood for the floor into space. The two of them watched in slight amusement as they worked, somewhat pleased with the prospect of a brand new gazebo.

By the time dinnertime had rolled around, Finn and Burt were putting up the wooden poles that would hold the roof of the gazebo in place. Before too long, it was getting too dark for them to continue building. Even though Burt reassured his step-son that they would finish the gazebo tomorrow, Finn still didn't like this idea and panicked throughout the night.

By the next afternoon, it was finished. While Burt and Carole both sat back while drinking a glass of soda each, enjoying the view of the new addition to the garden, Kurt and Finn both went to test out the gazebo as a place to sit. Although Kurt thoroughly enjoyed being able to sit in the sun outside and do whatever he wanted, Finn seemed a lot more resigned than usual, and didn't say a word.

That night, as the Hudson-Hummel household slept peacefully, they were all blissfully unaware that someone was inside their house.

As she sat down on the bed, Terri looked down at Carole's growing stomach, wondering about the baby inside. For one moment, she reached out to touch the other woman's stomach; Carole shifted in her sleep and rolled over before she could do anything, and Terri's hand retreated.

Review please! :D Also, any ideas welcome!