Hey guys! I'm sorry that the past chapter was so confusing, a lot happened that hasn't been explained. This chapter really isn't that much better. Just use your imagination and put pieces together. Thank you for the reviews! Please keep giving me good and bad feedback, it really helps. Thank you for the follows/favs!

"Evil attracts more evil. The Evil that resides in this house uses the people who live her as a conduct to the real world" ~ Billie Dean Howard

Constance's POV

A cigarette never tasted better after a tiring day. The smoke was sweet and heavy, floating around her face like a veil. She took a long drag and swallowed down the toxic delicious smoke. It was an awful habit, it pulled more money from her pocket then it was worth. The dry ash stumbled off the edge like a man leaping from a cliff; it fell with a hiss and died. Absently she flicked it from the dinner table to the floor.

Michael was standing at the window, his hands hung slack at his sides, eyes fixed on something that Constance couldn't see. This was his regular routine. He stood at the window staring at the Murder House until something pulled him away. Constance took another long drag. She reminded him so much of Tate, already showing his murderous side at such a young age. This was her chance to finally do something right in this world. She had failed all of her other children and her purpose as a mother but she could try again.

The back door creaked open without a knock.

"Finally you're here," Constance stamped out her cigarette. Billie Dean sashayed up to the table and elegantly slid into a chair, a cigarette pinched between her long pink nails.

"I got here as soon as I could." She said.

Michael was staring; Constance could feel it like cold ice sliding down her back. Billie Dean uncomfortably darted her eyes in his direction. She only agreed to come to the house on the condition that Michael never be present when she was here.

"Michael, darling, go up to your room." Constance turned to give him a smile. The little boy smiled back but his eyes stayed fixed on Billie Dean. Silently he went upstairs.

Billie Dean visibly relaxed as soon as he was out of sight. She brushed a hand across her forehead.

"You should get rid of him," She said. "He's not worth the pain he'll cause."

Constance went rigid. The pain Michael would cause… he was evil, born from the sins that his father committed, her own son Tate, Constance knew that. She'd witnessed firsthand what little Michael could truly do.

"He's my grandson," Constance said coldly. Billie Dean lifted her shoulders in a careless dainty shrug. Envy burned in Constance's gut, this woman who leaned at her kitchen table with her ankles crossed and bright pink nails splayed across the table had her youth and looks. Constance had lost that… when she'd lived in Virginia she was the pageant queen. At sixteen Constance fell madly in love with the handsome young man who brought her flowers and bought her coke-a-cola when they went on dates. She was never pretty enough for him though…

Constance pinched down her envy, rolling her shoulders back and squaring her jaw. She waved a hand at Billie Dean. "Let's get on with it."

Billie Dean shot her a cold look then momentarily closed her eyes. Constance waited. Billie Dean's eyebrows furrowed together, a long drawn out sigh workings its way past her thin lips.

"It's hard with his aura in the house." She groaned, eyes still closed. "Adie is moving farther into the veil… I can barely hear her."

"Veil?" A hand pressed itself to her heart. Losing Adie permanently never crossed Constance's mind.

"Yes, the veil. Imagine something like purgatory, as the soul moves farther out of our world of conscience it enters a new world of conscience. This place I cannot reach, nor would I want to."

"Well can you bring her back?" Constance's voice was rising, her heart starting to tremble. Adie, she thought, please don't abandon me… I'm sorry! Please don't go.

"No, a soul goes when it can and cannot come back as far as I know." Billie Dean flipped back her hair then reached over to Constance's hand to give it a short sympathetic pat. "You should be happy for her; it isn't healthy for a soul to be stuck in our world."

"No, no of course it isn't…" Constance ran hand through her blonde curls. Her mind seemed at a blank, Adie was gone? She just couldn't fully wrap her head around it. She'd never lost any of her loved ones, not even her cheating bastard husband. Tate, Beau, and Hugo all lived at the Murder House. Even though Adie hadn't died on the property Constance thought that through Billie Dean she could still be with her daughter. But now, for the first time, Constance had lost her child. She'd dealt with so much death, but never loss.

"I should go then," said Billie Dean. She shoved back the chair with a squeal against the linoleum. Glancing over to the living room where Michael had been she shuddered. Saying one final goodbye to the poor woman at the table Billie Dean left. Out the door she shook off the disgusting fowl aura that clung to everything it came near to. The little boy's aura was worse than his fathers, worse than anything she'd ever encountered. To sit in the same house that he was in gave her nauseating chills.

Constance rocked back in her chair and then forward to lean her head on her arms. She steeled herself against the aching in her chest. A freezing cold hand touched her arm. Jumping Constance whipped around to stare down into her grandsons bottomless empty black eyes. She felt a sense of horror and fear sweep across her skin like a light chill breeze. But it soon passed. She smiled slightly and smoothed a hand over his curls.

Michael was her second chance.