3 days after the funeral (cont.)

"He's a kid," Violet said. "You could have warned me."

"I told you he'd changed," said Chad. He leaned against the kitchen counter, hands behind him. "Trust me, he's much easier to manage pint-sized."

Violet folded her arms and pushed one foot forward. "That's not the sort of change I thought you meant."

"So clarify next time," he dismissed. "I'm in the mood for a mint julep. You want one?"

She blinked. "What? Like, alcohol?" She shook her head. "I can't. I'm underage."

"Personally I feel dying entitles a person to get as drunk as they like, no matter what age." Chad turned to the refrigerator. "How old are you, anyway?" He shot her a conspiratorial look over his shoulder. "I know a lady doesn't tell her age but I can keep a secret."

"I'm-" Violet stopped. She thought about it. Then she counted on her fingers. "Holy shit."

Chad smirked and got out a pitcher and some bourbon. "So do you want one or not?"

Violet leaned on the island. "Uh. Sure. I guess."

She was having a little trouble grasping the fact that she was 23, going by birthdays. She hadn't really thought about birthdays since she died. Even before that she'd been pretty burnt out on birthday parties. She hadn't had a real one since she was 13. Her mom had wanted to do a Sweet 16 but Violet just wasn't into that sort of froofy nonsense. She sort of regretted that now. She lit a cigarette.

"You'll love it," Chad said as he set to work. "It's one of my favorite drinks. Not a winter cocktail though." He started to cut up some mint. "Age is a weird thing when you're dead. It really does lend truth to the whole 'you're only as old as you feel' shtick."

Violet watched what he did, moving to get a better view without abandoning the ashtray. "I still feel seventeen."

"Mm," said Chad. He poured out two long glasses of it, over some crushed ice. "I don't think you ever really feel different at a specific age. You just build on the layers of who you are."

He added an extra sprig of mint to the top along with a dusting of powdered sugar, then he poked a couple of straws in. He brought the two glasses over to the island. She accepted the one he handed her and set her cigarette down in the ashtray. She watched him take a drink before she did the same, sipping cautiously. She made a few faces, none of which were bad.

"I know the straws should be shorter but... Do we love it?" Chad prompted.

"It reminds me of breath spray," she said. "Not in a bad way."

Chad rolled his eyes. "Heathen."

She had another sip. "It's not bad."

Chad gave her a martyred look. "Fine, Miss Thing. Next time you mix something."

"I can't mix drinks," Violet said. "I don't know how."

"So teach yourself. You're on the computer more than the wi-fi is," said Chad. He played with his mint sprig idly. "Haven't you tried using it to learn something useful?"

"Mixing drinks is useful?" she said sarcastically.

He gave a short laugh. "More useful than those silly dress-up games you play." He saw her look and smiled. "Hey. I know how to read browser history as well as the next person. It's a very handy skill."

She allowed herself a smile and picked her cigarette back up. She had a puff then a sip of her drink and blinked, surprised. "Hey, that actually tasted better after smoking."

Chad humphed. "I've heard some people say alcohol improves tobacco and vice versa but I wouldn't know. My lungs are pure."

"Your lungs are gone," Violet smirked.

He arched a brow. "You're a mean drunk." He had a sip from his glass.

Violet found herself liking the drink more with each little sip. It was a new experience but not a bad one. The tingly feeling in her stomach seemed to be seeping out into the rest of her. She understood why Chad had said it wasn't a good winter drink. It made her feel chilly on the inside.

"So is Tate... a kid all the time?" she asked. She sucked on her cigarette and looked at Chad.

"No," said Chad. "But he is most of the time. I prefer him that way. It helps reinforce the idea that he's starting over. Amongst other things." He had a long drink to stop himself saying something he might regret.

"Seems pretty extreme," said Violet. She was surprised to notice her glass was missing half of its contents already.

Chad lowered his glass then shrugged. "So is killing a few dozen people." He had another long sip that drained his glass. He went for the pitcher. "Refill?"

She eyed her glass and shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm already feeling... fuzzy."

"More for me," he said and poured more into his glass. He returned the pitcher to the counter.

Violet reached for her cigarette but she'd already put it out at some point. So she lit another one.

"Does he talk about me?" she asked.

Chad smiled dryly. "Like a hobby." He waved her smoke back toward her. "He clings to the hope that you'll welcome him back with open arms if he performs Herculean tasks, et cetera. He's a sickeningly incurable romantic little shit. Though if you ask me, I think you're both better off apart."

Violet looked at him funny. "Why?"

"You can't make each other crazier if you're not around one another."

"Whatever," Violet said, jabbing him in the arm with a finger. "You're crazier than I ever could be. Who sorts the snack shelf by color when nobody's looking? Not me."

"That's your crazy mother's doing," Chad denied. He rubbed the spot she poked. "She's the one who's all neurotic about color coordination."

"Riiiight," said Violet with a smile. "She likes two colors: Plain and semi-plain."

That made Chad laugh.

The teen girl puffed on her cigarette. Her smile faded. "I just can't... get over Westfield." She tapped her ash and poked at it with the ember. "He killed fifteen people. He looked them in the eye and murdered them. I can't even remember how many people he hurt. How could somebody do that?"

Chad looked into his glass. It was a moment before he said anything. "I was in my senior year that year." He glanced over at Violet. "The year of the Westfield shootings. Did you know Tate, Pat and I were all born the same year? 1977. Weird but true."

Violet put her cigarette out, smushing it slowly around the ashtray. "Yeah, that is kind of a weird coincidence."

Chad had a drink before continuing. "Well. It probably won't shock you to know I've known since I was little that I was gay," he said after he set his glass down.

Violet smiled. "No, I can't say that really shocks me."

Chad returned the smile but it was a for-show-only expression. "Only boy in my graduating class who took Home Ec and Interior Design as electives." He ditched the smile. "God, I hated high school. I hated school, period. The kids I went to school with were pigs. I won't even get into how many different ways they invented to make a person feel worthless. They had... games they would play. Like 'Smear the Queer'. The faculty never did anything." He took a long drink from his glass.

Violet never thought she'd find herself bonding with Chad about school but she understood what he was talking about. She'd been picked on for different reasons but knew too well what it felt like to be ganged up on. No reason was a good one.

"Most people suck," she said in alcohol-tinted honesty. "High school is like... gangland. Either you find a group that's big enough to keep you safe, you get beat up, or you spend your life hiding in the library."

"I fell into the second category," admitted Chad. "A lot."

"Yeah. Me too."

Chad sipped at his drink, debating whether to go on. Finally he said: "When I heard about the shootings... I was. Glad."

He didn't look at the girl beside him even though he could feel her stare. "Don't get me wrong. I don't really- I don't think what he did was right. I was still in high school when it happened... Not the same one but when I saw the news I couldn't help thinking about all of the assholes who hurt me and shunned me and called me names. Made me hate who I was. All those pretentious little fucks that went around acting like they were God's gift to the world. I saw them in the faces of the victims. And I remember thinking... Somebody finally got the balls to stand up and fight back."

He turned away to go get the pitcher and smudged a hand over his eyes quickly, thinking she didn't notice. When he came back to the island his face was masked in neutrality. He refilled his glass and hers, forgetting she didn't want more. He set the pitcher down on the island.

"But a lot of those people he hurt never even met him," Violet protested. "They couldn't have done anything to him."

"Yes," said Chad, lips pursing briefly. "Like I said, I don't think what he did was right. I don't really even know why he did it. He says he doesn't remember any of it. I feel horrible for the families. But I also understand what could make a person want to do something like that."

...

1999

"Oh. My. God. This is it. Here. Wait, wait. Take my picture."

Abbey turned her back to Murder House and paused her video recording. The goth-punk girl made a duck-face smile and put two fingers up in a loose peace sign. Justin snapped a picture of her. He'd borrowed the cameras from his high school film department. He was in film class so he had access to all kinds of fun equipment he and his friends used regularly for their personal projects.

As soon as he had the shot Abbey turned back to the dark house. "This is so. Cool. Totally worth the bus ride."

Justin took a few shots of the house. "This'll look sweet on black and white film."

"Come on," Abbey said and pushed past the gate. "Hurry up before someone sees us."

They'd timed their approach for midnight. It meant it would be harder to find their way around but it also meant they were less likely to be detected and kicked out. They'd snuck into many old buildings over the past couple of years and had the photo albums to prove it. But Murder House was number two on Abbey's personal wish list of places to explore. Winchester Mansion was number one.

Murder House they could get to by bus. So it was the moonlit yard of that house they hurried across. She and Justin slipped around back and found a gate that wasn't locked. They crept into the back yard and up onto the back porch.

"It doesn't have a lock box," Justin said. He tried the door. It was locked.

"Windows," said Abbey. She was already checking the nearest one. It was also locked.

Justin grinned at her. "Wouldn't it be stupid if we came all this way and we couldn't get in?"

She gave him a flat look. "No. That would be beyond stupid." She stepped back and craned her neck to see how far up the next windows were. Too high to reach. "Shit."

"We could break the window," Justin suggested.

Abbey frowned. "I don't know."

She didn't like the idea of breaking the window. She went over to the door and jiggled the handle. Then she shoved her shoulder into the door. It rattled in its frame.

"What are you doing?" Justin whispered urgently.

She didn't answer but rammed the door a little harder, just to see if the lock would budge. Something clattered down off the frame. The two teens looked down and saw a key. Abbey picked it up and, after a closer look, tried it in the lock. It worked. She pushed the door open and smiled at her friend.

"Whenever God locks a door, he provides a key," she said, waving him inside. She put the key back up on the door frame and closed the door once they were both inside.

She turned back on the video camera and swept it around the kitchen. "Do you think they ate breakfast together that morning?"

Justin shrugged and took a couple of pictures. "Would you eat breakfast with a guy you were gonna set on fire two hours later?"

Abbey thought about that. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You're twisted."

She smiled. "Come on. Let's go upstairs. I want to see his room."

She led the way to the stairs and paused to take in the way the moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows. Then she trotted up the staircase. She had spent hours studying the layout of the place. The only place she knew better in relation to the history was Westfield High itself.

Justin followed her down the hall, pausing occasionally to take a picture. "You set the video camera to night mode, right?"

"Of course," said Abbey. "I'm not stupid. Here. This is it."

She recorded herself pushing the door open. Then she entered the empty room. She went to the center and turned a complete, slow circle.

"Oh, wow," she breathed. "I can't believe I'm actually here." She looked down at the floor but couldn't see any blood stains. "Where do you think they shot him?"

Justin was still in the hall, taking pictures of her geeking out. He came in and took another picture. "I don't know. Hey. Lay down. Right there in the center. I want a picture of you looking dead."

She grinned and turned off the video recorder and set it down. "You're so fucking creative."

She took off her backpack and stretched out on the hard floor. She shifted about, put a hand in her black hair and turned her face to the side. "How's this?"

"Good," Justin said, snapping a few shots.

He suggested a couple of other poses, shot a few more frames, then motioned to the backpack. "You want to do the Ouija?"

She nodded and sat up. She pulled the board out, which took some effort because it wasn't meant to be carried in a Jansport. She got the indicator center piece out and put it on the board. Justin was about to join her at the game board when he heard something out in the hall. Abbey didn't hear it but she noticed his reaction.

"What?"

Justin waved a hand to shush her. "I think someone's out there. I'm gonna check it out."

She nodded. He went back out into the hall. She heard a thump and a short, surprised cry. Then another thump and then silence.

"Justin?" she hissed.

Silence.

She grabbed her backpack and the camera and crept over to the door. She peeked out into the hall. It was dark. She couldn't see Justin anywhere. He wasn't the type to play pranks so her thoughts turned to the most immediately threatening likelihood: A homeless person. She stepped out into the hall and looked around. She didn't see anyone so she went to the stairs and looked down. She saw Justin sprawled on the floor down below.

Tate would have shoved her down the stairs too but the front door opened right then and a pair of policemen entered. They'd been alerted by a neighbor who'd noticed the sightseers trying to force their way in through the back earlier.

"Freeze! Police!" said one of the cops when his flashlight passed over Abbey. The other policeman went over to Justin.

"I think my friend fell down the stairs," the goth girl said. "We were just taking pictures."

"Come down the stairs," said the cop with the flashlight. "You know you're trespassing."

Tate watched her go from the shadows. He didn't want the cops to see him. He didn't mind if they made the other people go away. It would make things easier for him. He'd been prepared to roll both of the intruders out into the street himself. Eventually someone would buy the place and he would have to deal with it. He understood that now. But he wasn't going to let just anybody creep around his home like it was a carnival attraction.

Once the people were gone Tate went back to his room. The furniture had come back now that the invaders were gone. But they had left their Ouija board behind. It was still on the floor beside his bed.

He sat down cross-legged next to it and picked up the spade-shaped indicator. He hadn't had anything new to play with in years. He smiled and set the piece back down on the board. He used it to spell out a couple of curse words and then his name. Then he picked up both the board and the indicator planchette and took them down to the basement. He wanted to show Mrs. Nora and Dr. Charles his new toy.

...

Author's Note:

Sorry if the last couple of chapters were rough. Maybe this one wasn't so much?

Chad and Pat's birth years are based on the RL actors' - which also happens to be the same year as Tate's is in the show's timeline. Odd but true. When I saw that how could I not use it?

In the 1999 segment Justin Sane and Abbey Normal contributed the Ouija board Tate shows to Violet later. I don't know why but I always wanted some back story there. The characters are original, one being based on a guy I once knew and one having a name inspired by Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein. As a side note, it was very hard to locate what the heck a Ouija indicator is called. The things I research in the name of fiction...

Next chapter we'll be doing some dream therapy then it's back to 2010 to spy on Chad and Patrick in their mortal days.