A/N- Wow— this show just keeps getting crazier and crazier! I'm following my evil twin theory in this particular story because it's fun and I still want to think Violet and Tate could somehow get a happy ending, and isn't that the whole point of fanfiction? Anything's possible in land…hope you all enjoy!

Love in the Afterlife

Chapter Three

"Now talk." Violet stood in front of Constance, her arms crossed over her chest. They were in her father's office, Constance sitting in the chair for the patients during therapy. Tate was leaning against the doorframe, barely inside the room, and Moira was dusting off the shelves with a smirk on her lips.

"What is it exactly you want to know, child?" Constance sighed, taking a long drag off her cigarette.

Violet gave her a look, and Constance blew out a cloud of smoke, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Time for some of my truth to be known." Constance delicately crossed her legs at her ankles. "It's a rather long story. Perhaps you two should take a seat."

"I'll stand." Violet shook her head.

Constance turned to Tate, but he just stood there, his eyes oddly empty and emotionless, staring blankly at a spot over her head. Constance felt her heart twist with concern for her boy, and what this could do to him. But Violet was right. He deserved to know the truth, after all these years.

"My first child only lived to her first birthday. It was an unspeakable loss, and I didn't know if I would ever recover. Then my Adelaide was born a year after, and you're all aware of the difficulties she presented for me, especially in my state of mourning for my firstborn. But some time after those dark days, when the doctor told me I was carrying not one, but two precious twin babies in my belly, I thought I was finally moving towards the light. They were born on a beautiful summer afternoon—June 2, 1977. The first boy, Eli, came out strong and screaming. But when Tate came after, he was small. Sickly. They didn't even let him leave the hospital for his first month of living. Looking back now, I realize that I may have been so caught up with Tate's afflictions that Eli suffered for attention throughout their young life."

Constance took another puff on her cigarette, pausing for breath. Violet looked at Tate, trying to see if any of this was registering emotionally or bringing up old memories, but he looked just as solemn and expressionless as he had when his mother started talking.

"I hate to admit it now, but Eli was so strong that I rather thought he could fend for himself while I tended to his twin brother and sister. Tate and Eli were physically identical in every way, but if you spent any time at all with them, you would immediately realize that they couldn't be more different."

Constance looked at her son. "Tate, you were always my little dreamer. So sweet and quiet. So good to your mother. But Eli…he was a handful. Always plotting. Always planning. I started to sense there was something very wrong with that boy. Nothing physically—he was always the model of health and beauty. But there was something twisted in his mind that all the love in the world couldn't straighten out."

Tate snorted derisively at the idea of Constance giving them "all the love in the world," but she chose to ignore him, going on.

"He was always fond of his sister, but you, Tate…he always thought you were my favorite, and he hated you for it. He started saying things…strange things like, why would I need two boys that looked the same? Why didn't I just pick one and get rid of the other? I was scared for you, Tate. The way he would look at you…you were just little boys, hardly five years old…but I started to fear for your life. One night, I heard Eli laughing and splashing in the bathtub, but I couldn't find you anywhere. The door to the bathroom was locked, and I had your father get it open. Eli was holding you under the water in the bathtub, trying to drown you. I still remember your little legs thrashing in the air…" Constance trailed off. "He'd killed small creatures before…I was always finding…pieces of things in the backyard. It seemed…it seemed to me that you would be next if I did nothing."

"Get to the point." Tate startled them by speaking up. "You said you sent him away?"

"Yes. Your father and I took him for some psychological tests, and they determined that he had a disorder. Antisocial personality, they said. A nice euphemism for psychopath, I'm told. They told us it would be better…safer…for everyone if Eli was put in special care."

"Like a mental institution?" Violet asked.

"Yes, my dear." Constance tapped her cigarette against the ashtray on the side table, her hands shaking slightly. "A mental institution."

"So then what happened?" Violet pressed.

Constance looked fleetingly at Tate. "Years passed. You seemed relieved he was gone, dear. Your medical issues even began to abate. We made a family decision not to mention him anymore in front of you…to lessen your stress. But Addy was distraught. I would take her with me to visit him, and sometimes she would tell him about the bullies at school. It enraged Eli that he couldn't protect her. The nurses told me he kept trying to escape, saying he wanted justice for his sister. But they always caught him. Until one day…" Constance swallowed hard, her eyes welling up with tears, Violet disgusted with the fact that she seemed to be relishing the drama of it all.

"That horrible morning, the worst day of my life, it was your last day of junior year, Tate. Addy was very insistent on the fact that she wanted to prepare breakfast for you. But after you ate your breakfast, you became very ill and couldn't go into school that day. And although I didn't know it…your brother…went in your place."

Violet's breath caught in her throat, finally understanding what had happened at Westfield High, and why Tate had been so confused by the Dead Breakfast Club at the beach. He hadn't killed them. His brother had. And Constance was about to tell him the truth—that not only was Tate dead, but also that he had died for nothing.

Tate shook his head, confused and scared. "Stop. Stop talking."

"He killed those vile children at your high school for the things they'd done to Addy, but you were the one who died for his sins, Tate."

"No. That's crazy. I'm not…there's no way…" Tate sputtered.

Constance stood up, walking towards him. "The police found you in your room, but the true killer, your brother was long gone. They shot you dead for the things your brother had done. It broke my heart, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, so I had you put to rest here, in this house, so that I could see you again."

"Shut up!" Tate banged his fist against the wall.

"The truth has been inside you all along, baby. But when you died, you forgot it because it hurt too much. But you have to remember it now. Let yourself remember what happened."

"You're lying! Nothing happened to me!" Tate shook his head, his eyes filling with tears.

Constance grabbed his face with both hands. "Then why do you think you can only leave this house on Halloween? You're one of the spirits of this ghastly place, and somewhere deep inside, you know it. You have to accept what happened to you, Tate. You have to accept it so you can cross over. I wanted you to hear this from Violet, not me…"

Tate pushed his mother away, turning to Violet. "Wait. She told you all this?"

"Not about your brother."

"But everything else?"

Violet didn't say anything, determinedly staring at the floor.

Tate shook his head. "Great. That's great. You're both out of your fucking minds." He turned and walked away, up the stairs, trying to ignore Constance calling after him—

"Baby, where are you gonna go?"

Violet sank down in her father's chair across from Constance, looking right at Tate's mother and speaking with cold finality. "I think you should leave now."

"I don't see why you're so upset." Constance shrugged. "I thought you'd be happy to hear that your ghostly beau was wrongly accused." She flicked the end of her cigarette against the ashtray before stubbing it out. "Or did you find Tate more…exciting when he was dangerous?" She laughed, the high airy laugh of a onetime socialite. "You picked the wrong brother if you wanted a bad boy, honey. Tate's got the nerve of a baby kitten."

"Oh, shut up." Violet snapped. "I am so sick of you saying stuff like that about him. Just because he's not some fucking psychopath, that makes him weak?"

"Watch your mouth."

"Go fuck yourself." Violet got to her feet, Moira snickering appreciatively as Violet crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at Constance. "You still think you're the hottest shit in town, don't you? Well, I'm sorry to break this to you, but it's actually not 1953. Lose the bizarro accent, take your reject couch upholstery clothes to Goodwill, and get another chemical peel—maybe you'll get lucky and the thousandth one will be free."

Constance got to her feet, smoothing down her green printed dress before she met Violet's eyes with unmistakable menace. "Fine. You've made your point. I'll take my leave. You can deal with my boys all by yourself." Her eyes slid down to the neckline of Violet's Alice in Chains t-shirt. "Though why both of them want to get under that training bra so badly is beyond me."

"Both of them? What are you talking about?" Violet's eyes narrowed. "I'm with Tate."

"Not last night, you weren't."

Violet blinked in shock. "Excuse me?"

"I know my boy. Tate is still an innocent." Constance shrugged. "And you are not. Not anymore. I know the signs, honey. Look at how pink your cheeks are getting, even now." She reached out for Violet's cheek, Violet jerking away as Constance continued. "You spread those skinny little legs for someone last night, but it wasn't Tate. It's almost Shakespearian, don't you think? Two brothers, violent enemies, switching places to fool their poor virgin princess into relinquishing her—"

"Get. Out." Violet said each word with so much venomous fury that Constance finally relented, laughing softly as she sashayed away, muttering to no one in particular— "Funny old house, don't you think?"

Violet looked at Moira when they were alone, Moira having fully abandoned the pretense of cleaning to just blatantly eavesdrop.

"What do you think I should do?" Violet asked, desperately wanting some parental advice and not really sure where else to get it.

Moira didn't hesitate. "You should leave. Leave this house before it destroys you too."

Violet licked her lips, silent for a long moment. She thought about never seeing Tate again. Really leaving this house behind. Finally, she shook her head in a moment of sudden decision. "No. No way. Tate needs me. And I think…I think I belong here. With him."

"I never figured you for a romantic." Moira sighed, her face falling. "I thought you were a smart girl."

"Haven't you ever been in love?" Violet asked.

Before Moira could reply, there was a crashing noise from Violet's bedroom. Moira pursed her lips primly. "I believe that's your cue."

Violet didn't hesitate, turning on her heel and hurrying up the stairs, leaving Moira alone to stare out the window and think that youth was wasted on the anemic rumpled young.

"Tate?" Violet looked around her ransacked room, closing the door behind her. "Come on, I know you're in here. Just talk to me."

There was no reply. Violet sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Okay, truth? Identical twins having identical everything is apparently bullshit. Yours is way bigger than your brother's."

"Yeah, right." Tate grumbled, suddenly appearing next to her window. "You're just trying to make me feel better."

"I swear." Violet smiled tentatively, walking towards him.

Tate shook his head. "You said it was amazing. With him."

"The only reason it was good—"

"Amazing. You said amazing." Tate corrected her.

"Whatever." Violet sighed. "The only reason I said that is because I thought it was you."

"You didn't even wonder if anything was up?"

"I just thought you were…like trying something different." Violet cleared her throat, suddenly deciding a little white lie wouldn't be the worst thing in this particular situation. "And I mean, it wasn't even really that great."

Tate's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Then why'd you look so happy when you saw me today?"

"I don't know." Violet crossed her arms. "I guess I just really wanted it to be you last night."

Tate looked down at her. "Why?"

Violet licked her lips, looking up at him. "I thought it was hot. Like us all pissed off and fighting in the basement, and then..."

"Oh." Tate nodded. "Like in the movies, where they're yelling at each other and then suddenly they're making out?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm still pretty mad at you." Tate pointed out.

"Cool. Let's try it." Violet leaned forward, kissing him, her hands clutching the collar of his sweater. Tate kissed her back for a brief moment, Violet's grip tightening on his collar as she pulled him closer, their chests pressed up against each other as the kiss grew deeper.

But suddenly, Tate turned his face away, letting out a long breath. "Wait, Violet. Wait."

"What's wrong?"

"You don't really believe any of that other stuff my mom said, right?"

Violet swallowed hard, not even sure if she was lying now. "N-No. No, of course not. I mean, that's crazy. Your mom's really old. Possibly senile. That's why I didn't tell you what she told me. Because I knew it was all bullshit."

"Yeah. I get it." Tate nodded with a slightly forced smile, still looking vastly unsure. "But I mean…there are ghosts here. We've both seen them."

"You're not a ghost, Tate." Violet laughed nervously, suddenly realizing if any of it was true, she really, really didn't want him to remember. She thought about what the freaky medium had said about Tate "crossing over"—if that happened, maybe he'd be gone forever. Maybe she'd never see him again.

"It's weird though…" Tate said quietly. "Whenever my mom was telling that story…some of it almost sounded…familiar or something."

"What do you mean, familiar?"

"I don't know." Tate looked lost in thought for a moment. "Sometimes it's like I'm having someone else's thoughts. Doesn't weird shit like that happen with twins?"

Violet shrugged, wanting to change the subject. "Maybe."

"What if she's telling the truth?" Tate looked at Violet, his voice desperate. "What if I'm really…dead?"

Violet struggled for a response, feeling like her protests were getting weaker and weaker. "But…all the ghosts we've seen still have the injuries that killed them. Like the nurses. You're not covered in bullet holes. So there's no way."

Tate looked back down, starting to unbutton his blue plaid shirt with slightly shaking hands. But suddenly he stopped. "I can't. I can't do it." He stared down at the floor. "Violet, I think…I think I'm starting to remember it. All of it."

"No, Tate, you're fine. Look." Violet shook her head, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and pulling it open to reveal the pale, unblemished skin of his chest. "No bullet holes."

"I thought it sounded like a freaking army coming up the stairs. Mom was crying. Begging them to leave me alone." Tate was speaking in a strange monotone, like part of him had gone somewhere else.

"Tate. Look at me." Violet took his face in her hands. "Don't. Stay here with me."

"It was like something out of a movie."

"Stop it." Violet shook him, terrified that the moment Tate said it out loud, he would be gone. "Don't say anything else."

"Vi, I have to. Don't you get it? I'm stuck. I can't leave this house. I can't really be with you. It's like I've been in a dream, for seventeen years. Maybe all of this—you coming to this house, my mom telling me the truth, Eli coming back—maybe it all happened to wake me up, finally."

"No." Violet's voice broke, "Don't. Don't leave me."

"Violet—"

"I love you."

Tate let out a sharp breath like she had just punched him in the stomach. There was a long moment of silence between them. "You love me?" he finally asked, his voice quiet.

Violet nodded, and suddenly Tate crossed to her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard. Violet's hands slid up his back to his shoulders, wanting to keep him close, wanting to keep him here with her, wanting to be with him more than she'd ever wanted anything. After a moment, she slid his button-down shirt and sweater off his broad shoulders, Tate tugging her t-shirt over her head and unhooking her bra before kissing her again, the feeling of skin against skin making them feel like they could just disappear inside each other, into the house, forever.

They hurriedly fumbled with the rest of their clothes until there was nothing left between them as they lay back on the bed, doing their now familiar dance of getting into position with Tate on top of her, but this time, he didn't look nervous and she wasn't worrying about what was going to happen next. They just stopped thinking, and everything around them went oddly quiet for a moment. But when Tate entered her, Violet's breath catching in her throat as her eyes slid closed, it was like the floor beneath them suddenly shifted, the walls around them making a strange, groaning noise that almost sounded like the house was discontent.

But they didn't stop or even look around to see what was happening. There was no way they were going to risk never being able to finish what they started. There were so wrapped up in each other that both Violet and Tate found themselves just dramatic enough to be convinced that the world was moving and changing only for them. Violet's hands clutched his bare shoulders tightly as they both started to breathe harder, the headboard creaking as Tate reached up and gripped it for the balance as he moved against her. Minutes felt like seconds once they were finally, really together, and time passed without either of them really noticing that the house was still creaking and shifting in apparent protest. When Tate slid his hand under her knee, pulling it up against her chest, she let out a soft moan, wrapping her other leg around his, Tate muttering her name against her neck, the moment of climax surprising them both, books falling off her shelves around them as Violet cried out and Tate buried his head in her shoulder with a groan of release, collapsing into her arms afterwards.

Violet closed her eyes, breathing him in, shaking like a leaf in the aftermath. It took her a moment to realize that there was something wrong. The glass in her window was vibrating, the floorboards rattling. "Tate…something's happening…" Violet whispered.

"Oh, shit…holy shit…" Tate rolled off of her, both realizing suddenly that they (and her sheets) were covered in so much blood that it was pooling in the middle of the mattress.

"What's going on—" Violet's brow furrowed with confusion, looking down and suddenly stopping short. "Tate…" He looked down as well, both seeing that he was suddenly gushing blood from what looked like fresh bullet wounds to his chest. Not knowing what else to do, Violet instinctively pressed her hands to one of the wounds, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. "You're going to be okay, everything's going to be fine…"

Tate shook his head, the room shifting again with a horrible crash, a jagged crack spreading down her window before it shattered, her closet door falling off it's hinges, hanging crooked, but neither Tate or Violet looking away from each other. Even soaked with blood, he looked bizarrely more peaceful than she had ever seen him. "Violet, I remember. I remember everything."

"No, wait, I'll get help." Violet refused to hear him, crying out with frustration as his blood spilled between her fingers.

"Don't." Tate covered her hands with his. "I'm not afraid anymore."

"Tate, please—"

"I will love you forever." Tate raised a bloody hand to her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb, his mouth curving into a small smile before the house's foundation seemed to crack in half beneath them, her bed sliding forward with violent force, Violet losing her balance and falling off the bed and onto her hands and knees on the floor, still tangled up in her sheets as she looked up.

"Tate?" She clutched the sheets to her chest, scrambling to her feet and looking around her suddenly empty room. "Tate?"

Violet realized with a small shock that the sheets weren't covered in blood anymore. And neither was she. There was no sign of what had happened only moments before. And no sign of Tate ever being there at all.

"Come back!" she screamed, furiously racing around her room, calling his name, stumbling over the wreckage, throwing open every door and searching everywhere before collapsing in a corner, wrapping the sheets around her, burying her head in her hands, her thin shoulders shaking as she started to cry, tears of confusion and fear and a sudden, crushing loneliness.

"Violet?" Her mother burst through the door to her room, chalk white and clutching a bloody towel to her forehead.

"I'm over here." Violet choked out.

"Are you all right?" Vivien raced to her side, crouching down beside Violet and wrapping her arms around her. "Oh, honey, you're shaking. It's okay. Apparently earthquakes happen almost every day in California. Marcy told me to expect this eventually. I was taking a nap downstairs and I think something must have fallen on me."

"You're bleeding." Violet pulled back to look at her mother, tears still slipping down her cheeks.

"Oh, don't look so worried, honey, I'm fine. It looks worse than it is." Vivien waved her off. "What about you? Are you all right?" She looked at Violet with a slightly confused expression. "Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

"I…I was going to take a shower." Violet lied quickly, wiping off her cheeks. "And then the room started shaking and stuff started falling off the walls…"

"I'm just glad you're okay." Vivien kissed her head, seeming to buy her story. "I'm going to go call your father and tell him we're all right. And then I'll have Moira come clean up all of this glass. Be really careful walking around, honey. Get dressed and put on some shoes so you don't cut yourself."

"Okay." Violet said, her voice sounding odd and unfamiliar, almost lifeless, to her own ears.

Her mother smiled reassuringly at her, leaving the room. Violet leaned her head back against the wall, feeling suddenly nauseous, like her head was literally spinning. Too much had just happened for her to even begin to process it all. She just looked around her room, not even wanting to blink in case she missed him, waiting for him to come back like he always did. She heard her mother downstairs on the phone with her father—"Ben, of course I'm sure there was an earthquake. We both felt it, me and Violet, the house is a wreck—don't you dare start calling me crazy again—"

Violet just tuned them out. She didn't even care if the earthquake had happened anywhere outside their house. Nothing would surprise her at this point. Who knows. Maybe the house was just pissed at her for being with Tate or something.

When it started to grow dark outside, Violet still hadn't moved. She heard the thud of low, heavy heels on the wooden floorboards outside her room, Violet just staring at the opposite wall as Moira crossed over the threshold, broom and dustpan in hand.

"Miss Harmon, are you injured?" Moira asked, sounding weary from already cleaning up the rest of the house.

"I'm fine." Violet replied stiffly.

"Then you need to get up. Make yourself decent." Moira started to sweep up the shards of broken glass under her window. "He's not coming back, dear. I know this house like the back of my hand, and he's not here. Not anymore."

Violet turned to look at her, her eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "You don't know shit."

"No need to be unpleasant. I'm not the one who released him. You are." Moira shrugged.

Violet's eyes burned with tears again, but she refused to let them show. There was nothing to cry about. Moira was wrong. She didn't know everything. And she definitely didn't know Tate.

He would come back.

A/N- Hey, sorry, I'm having so much fun with this story I didn't get to everything in this chapter! Up next—Eli returns, Violet enlists the help of her friendly neighborhood medium to try and see Tate again, we find out what happened when Chad and Patrick woke up after being murdered, and what the heck is the story with Constance and Larry anyway? All to come, dear readers! Reviews are my drug…:)