2018 - 3 nights after the funeral
Violet kept to herself most of the day, trying to come to a decision about Tate without success. Her talk with Chad had only muddled her feelings more. Toward the evening she decided to contact Billie Dean. The woman wasn't on her Instant Messenger so Violet sent her an email instead, asking her to come over the next day.
She closed the laptop and pushed it aside. Then she folded her arms, rested her cheek atop them and shut her eyes. She did want to talk to Tate, quite badly in fact, but it would be too weird to talk to him as a child. She had no idea what she would say to him even if he looked his normal age. Chad said Tate missed her but it had been seven years. Did he even really remember her? They'd only known each other a short time.
And yet she remembered every little detail about her time spent with him. Some days she spent reliving those memories in her mind. They were more pleasant than the drudgery of most days in Murder House. She started to drift off while reflecting. Being awake shifted seamless into an awake-like dream where Tate was crouching over her as she lay, and he was dressed in that shiny black rubber suit.
Violet woke with a start and pushed herself up a bit. She looked about, relaxing only when she was sure she was alone. She wasn't sleepy anymore.
...
"It's just for a few nights," Ben said.
Vivien bounced Joshua gently but her expression toward Ben was disapproving. "I can't believe you're doing this."
He was beginning to get tired of her constantly tearing him down. "It's a few nights out of the last few hundred we've spent together. I'm not even going to be gone during the days."
She wasn't reassured. "This is turning into an obsession."
"I'm just trying to help a kid who never got a fair shake from life," Ben said, finding it hard to keep his annoyance in check. "I'm sorry that's so hard for you to understand, Vivien."
She stopped bouncing the baby and stared at him, stunned. "Have you forgotten what he did to me?"
He picked up the small duffel bag he'd packed. "What exactly did he do again, Viv? Say yes? Or did he get a chance to say anything before you pulled him into our bed?"
She hugged the baby closer as tears welled up in her eyes. She was too shocked and wounded to speak.
Ben felt guilty but he couldn't back down. So he just didn't look at her. "It's amazing the things you learn in therapy." He shouldered his bag. "'Night, Vivien. Ni-night, Joshua."
He walked out then, leaving her stunned look behind.
...
Ben never knew about Patrick's plan to monitor his activities. Chad's accusations had eaten at him so much Pat had abandoned the plan. Instead he spent the first night of dream therapy lifting weights and trying not to think about what the good doctor might be doing.
It bothered Pat that he couldn't get the matter off his mind. It also bothered him that, as rude as he was, Chad was usually right about his observations. Of course he was right about the sex, even if Patrick hadn't really admitted it. But he felt entitled. He'd backed off his old deal like he agreed to but, as a trapped murder victim with little chance of escape, he still felt owed whatever he wanted of Tate's existence. Patrick had just found something else to want.
That, to him, trumped Ben's dodgy notions of therapy. He was certain the shrink's intentions had nothing to do with healing or helping. The fact that it might have a bad effect on Tate bothered Pat even more than the plan to drug his food had.
But there was no way to convince Chad of anything now. Regardless of what he believed, though, Patrick was genuinely concerned. However, without Chad's support he didn't know what to do about it. All of his impulses felt wrong. It was a frustration that kept him awake and restless for hours.
...
For Ben, books were meant to be his company but it took Tate a long time to go to sleep. The boy wanted to talk to Dr. Harmon about everything from dreams to constellations. Ben had humored him at first but after an hour he grew comfortable with telling his child-sized patient to go to sleep. Eventually Tate quieted down long enough to do so. It was another two hours before Ben set aside his novel and gave the sleeping boy a closer look.
Ben couldn't 'feel' any dreams. He wasn't sure if it was because there weren't any to feel or if it was because he wasn't wearing the suit. He had hoped he wouldn't have to use it. He got a black nylon zippered case out the duffel and took a syringe from it. Carefully and quietly he injected his sleeping patient, who flinched only a little when the needle slid in.
The doctor put the syringe away and waited a bit longer. Then he leaned in and put a hand over Tate's forehead. He waited. He still couldn't feel anything. He cursed under his breath and went back to the duffel bag. He would have to use the suit.
... ...
"There," Ben said. "That should do it. Can you see the moon now?"
He stood back from the telescope and looked up at the full moon that shone brightly in the night sky.
"...No." Tate straightened and smiled, dimples showing. "I feel like I'm trying to spot a UFO."
"Hmm. Scoot over. Let me see what we did wrong."
He changed places with the boy again and looked through the telescope. He tweaked a couple of knobs and adjusted the tilt of the tripod. "Ah! There she is. Luna at last."
Ben moved out of the way and Tate stepped up to the eyepiece. He looked through and wrinkled his nose. "It's kind of blurry."
"Yeah," sighed Ben. He looked up at the moon, his hands on his hips. "I guess when you only pay ten dollars for a telescope, you get what you pay for."
"Next time we should pay the extra five bucks for the 'focus' knob," said Tate. He squinted at the spot of light for a few moments, then said:"Hey, dad? Is there really a star named Wormwood?"
The question was an unusual one but Ben actually had the answer. Finally that college course in Religious Studies would pay off. "No. Not in astronomy as we know it. Some think it will be a comet in the future but... no. The Wormwood in the bible isn't a star as we know it. It's an angel. Apsinthion is another name for it."
"Really?" Tate glanced up at him briefly. "So when Wormwood falls to earth, it's not a comet but an angel? But I thought that the angel fell before, like, when time began? Wormwood doesn't happen till the end."
"Two different angels," said Ben. "Lucifer was the first. Wormwood is the last."
Tate fiddled with the knobs. "Do they have a telescope at the planetarium that you can look through?" he asked after a few moments. "I can't tell if I'm seeing craters or smudges on the lens."
Ben shrugged and lit a cigarette. "I'm not sure. I don't think so. Although you can see a laser light show there to the tunes of Footloose."
"Great, dad," Tate said, straightening to throw his father a grossed-out look. "I ask for the moon and you give me Sweatin' to the Oldies."
They both laughed. Then they heard Constance calling them to dinner. Ben sucked another couple of quick puffs from his cigarette before snuffing it in the ashtray. Then they both went inside.
...
It was the best dream Tate had in decades. For anyone else it would have been excruciatingly normal, with Ben and Constance happily married and Beau and Addie and Tate healthy and happy and boringly normal. But for him it was heaven. For Ben, it was insightful. Weeks flew by in the span of hours.
Then Constance and Ben began to fight. He caught her cheating with the neighbor and that was the last fight between them. He packed two suitcases and prepared to leave. Tate could do nothing but stand by and watch. It was horrific. He knew he would never see his father again.
Then Ben stopped at the door and he turned to look back at him. "Tate," he said. "You're dreaming."
Tate blinked a few times. Tears dripped off his chin. "What?"
"You're having a nightmare."
"I am?"
Ben nodded and smiled warmly. "Yes. Go back to bed now. When you wake up it'll be over."
Tate hesitated but Ben's smile reassured him so he went back to his room and crawled into bed. He suddenly had his pajamas on so he knew his dad had been right. It was just a dream. A weird, bad dream.
He tugged the covers up and shut his eyes and sighed.
He smiled in his sleep
... ...
Ben pulled off the hood. He had to resist the urge to sit down; he was worn out. He stripped the suit and put it and the hood back into his bag. Then he got dressed. Only then did he let himself sag into the seat near the bed. His head dropped against the back of the chair and he shut his eyes. He grew chilly as the sweat cooled on his skin but he didn't bother getting up to get a blanket.
Despite the exhaustion, he felt good. Better than good. He felt exquisite. It was the first time he'd managed to almost completely shape a dream. It hadn't been easy. He'd had to fight against Tate's Id the whole time to weed out all kinds of crazy things. At some point he wanted to confront that primal core and see what secrets he could pull from it. But not till he was sure he could best it.
They both slept in that morning.
...
2010
It was incredibly late - or extremely early, depending on how one chose to view the time - when Patrick settled into the straight-backed designer sofa in the 'great room' downstairs. It was the first room Chad had tackled with his HGTV curb appeal tips. It looked showroom perfect. It was about as comfortable as cold storage but it offered solitude at that hour.
Patrick booted up his laptop and squinted against the glare. He wasn't really awake so his body resisted the light. The ghost piloting him used the man's hands to type a location into the browser.
"What're you doing?" Tate asked from the doorway.
Sam Argento, a well-built guy with short dark brown hair, glanced over from where he was standing behind the couch and grinned at the teenager. "Just helping our buddy out."
Tate moved to where he could read over Patrick's other shoulder and frowned. "Boys in Bondage?" He eyed Sam and then looked back at the computer again. "Hey. That's not cool. Just because you're into that shit-"
"Oh, grow up," Sam said as he scrolled through the website. "Our buddy's no angel. He's a total freak. You should see his web history. It's insane."
"You shouldn't do that," Tate said, frowning. He stuffed his fingers in his back pockets and shifted his weight. "They're already having problems. They don't need you making it worse. They're supposed to have a baby for Mrs. Montgomery. They can't have a baby if they're fighting all the time."
Sam snorted derisively. "Like I care. Everybody knows these homos aren't going to last. I'm seeing what I can see of the internet while I can."
Since talking to the other guy was only making Tate angry, he went around the couch and pulled the cord out of the laptop. It dropped to the floor. The laptop display dimmed slightly but nothing else happened. Sam snickered. Patrick leaned over, picked the cord back up and plugged it in.
"Ain't the future grand?" Sam smiled. "Maybe one day they'll make a personal computer that doesn't even need batteries. I'm keeping that one."
By that point Patrick was awake enough to do his own browsing so the ghost hopped over the back of the couch and sat next to him to watch.
"Does your wife know you're off your leash?" Tate said nastily.
It didn't bother Sam. "She lets me off every now and then, for good behavior."
Tate unplugged the laptop cord again just to be a pain, since he knew it wouldn't affect the performance of the computer. Patrick just picked it up again. The teen went around the back of the couch and looked over the man's shoulder again.
"Holy shit," he said when he saw what was on the screen.
Sam grinned broadly. "I told you he was a freak. How would you like to wear that thing?"
"I don't think you can without surgery first," said Tate. He frowned. He didn't want to be drawn into caring about what was on the screen. But it was distracting. "Why do people want to do that kind of shit anyways?"
"Don't knock it till you've tried it, junior," said Sam.
Tate smirked. "Like I'd take the word of Dog Boy."
"You know what topping from the bottom is?"
"Gee, I don't know," said Tate, rolling his eyes. "Upside-down nachos?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "When you've learned, we'll talk."
"I know what it- Oh, my God!" Tate exclaimed when the next set of images came up on the screen. He covered his eyes. After a moment he asked: "Is it gone?"
"Yeah."
Tate peeked and saw the same set of pictures. He covered his eyes again. "Aaah! You fucking liar!"
Sam laughed. "Come on. It's not that bad. It's just a tube."
"It's where the tube is, that's what bothers me," said Tate without uncovering his eyes.
"Okay. It's gone now."
"You're lying."
"No," Sam said. "Honest. He's on a different page now."
Tate parted his fingers and then recoiled. "That's not any better!"
"Sure it is," argued Sam happily. "That's clearly not a tube. I'm not sure what they call that but it's definitely not a tube."
"But it's in the same place!" objected Tate.
Sam laughed again. He was having too much fun. Tate decided it was time to end that. He moved back around the couch and went to push the power button on the laptop. Sam saw what he was about to do and intercepted him, catching his hand. A contest of wills ensued. While they struggled Patrick continued to surf, unaware.
A few things happened then: Tate managed to mash his finger down on the power button and hold it long enough to shut the machine off. Sam, not inclined to just give up, pulled back on Tate's finger until it snapped, which caused both of them to bump the screen of the laptop, knocking it to the floor.
"Ow! Motherfucker!" Tate swore as he scrambled back. He hopped around, shaking his finger. "You broke my finger, you dick!"
Patrick cursed and picked up the computer. He assumed it slipped off his lap. He tried the power button. Nothing happened.
"You broke the computer," Sam said. "Way to go, dumbass."
Tate sucked on his finger and tried to focus on making the pain go away but he really wanted to argue with Sam about the computer. So he pulled his finger out of his mouth and let it hurt a bit longer.
"That wasn't my fault," he said. Angry tears stung his eyes. "You did that. You broke my fucking finger!"
"Your finger will be fine," said Sam. "The laptop's dead."
Patrick tried the power button a couple more times then closed the laptop. He sighed and ran his hands through his short hair. Then he yawned.
"He'll get it fixed," Tate grumped. He shook his hand but the pain persisted. "You didn't have to break my finger."
"You didn't have to turn the computer off," said Sam. He got up and headed for the door.
The dismissal only made Tate madder. He waited until Sam was almost past him then he tried to sucker-punch the man. He surprised him but Sam ducked and Tate's knuckles just grazed his head. Sam was pissed. He rebounded with a punch of his own and caught the teen under the chin, knocking him back.
"Take a swing at me?" Sam said.
He threw a quick rabbit punch next, hitting Tate in the left kidney. The teenager dropped, both arms hugging his side. Sam was ready for another round but it was obvious the fight was already over.
"Don't you know not to approach strange dogs when they're off the leash?" he scoffed. Then he left.
Patrick meanwhile had already left the room, taking the broken computer with him.
Feeling like crap, Tate picked himself up and retreated to the master bedroom. Pat had returned to bed where Chad was still sleeping. Tate curled up on the cream colored sofa across the room. He watched the couple for a long time while he healed the damage from the scuffle downstairs. He wished things were like they had been when the men had first moved in.
...
A week later Pat sat naked on the edge of the bed, elbows on his thighs. Chad was in the bed and had the blankets pulled up around his waist.
"You know I can't enjoy it when it hurts," he said to his lover's back. "And when you get rough like that, it hurts."
Patrick was fed up with being understanding. He knew it wasn't about pain tolerance. It was a power trip for Chad. Pat hadn't been doing exactly what he wanted lately so Chad held sex hostage, neatly wrapped in an untouchable 'it's your fault' package. Patrick rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He just wanted to have a quick roll in the hay before sleep. Not a living episode of 90210.
"Maybe it wouldn't hurt if we actually did it more often," he muttered.
"Maybe we'd do it more if I didn't have to worry about being treated like a slut in one of those porn videos you jerk off to," Chad fired back. "I don't want to feel like some back alley rent boy, thank you."
"It's not being a slut to take the brakes off every once in a while," defended Patrick, turning a little so he could glare at his mate. "You know, not stopping to put a towel down first for once? You fuck like an old woman drives."
"Well pardon me if I don't like to be slapped on the ass every time we make love," said Chad, widening his eyes in a martyred way. He pulled the covers up a little higher and smoothed them out.
Patrick groaned. "That again? Christ, Chad. I only did it that one time. I apologized. What do I have to do, sacrifice a goat?"
"It would help if your apology didn't sound like you were only saying it to placate me."
"Now I'm saying things the wrong way." Patrick laughed bitterly and threw his arms up in a defeatist shrug. "You know what? Maybe you should just give me a manual on exactly how to live since I obviously fail at it so badly."
"Oh, don't act like you don't know the difference between a sincere apology and saying something just so I'll let you stick your dick in your hole of choice," said Chad, folding his arms.
Patrick got up then and went to the dresser. He started to put on his clothes. Chad watched him unhappily.
"Now you're going to run off to the bar," he said morosely.
Pat slammed the dresser drawers. "No, I'm going to go downstairs. Maybe jerk off to a few porn videos."
Chad waited till Pat was at the door to say, "The laptop's still at the shop."
Patrick squeezed the doorknob briefly but tight enough to hurt the bones in his hand. "I'll use my imagination," he growled. Then he left the room.
He went downstairs with the intention of going to the kitchen but he was intercepted by one of the house's many phantoms. While he was distracted stewing over the argument with Chad, he wound up going to the library instead.
He was steered to a shelf where he found the book 120 Days of Sodom - The School of Libertinism by the Marquis de Sade. The words on the spine were intriguing. The books in the library had come with the estate, as had a lot of the furniture, but Patrick had never taken the time to look at what was actually there. He pulled the book down and carried it over to the settee - Chad's addition to the room.
Of course Pat had heard of the Marquis - who hadn't? But what he found in those pages was shocking enough to keep him reading for the next few hours. The ghost of Nikki Argento had heard from her husband about the broken computer - she'd punished Sam well for his part in it. But she thought she should lend Pat a book from her personal collection as a consolation while he waited for his laptop to be repaired. Once she saw that he appreciated her gift, she left him to it.
...
Author's Note:
Wow. That chapter got unexpectedly long. But it was either that or two strangely short chapters. I think I picked the lesser of two evils.
So does anyone else want to smack Ben upside the head? I wish he'd either be a total jerk or totally helpful. His being both and neither at once annoys me.
Oh, and the book that Nikki gave to Patrick is one that (according to the 'You're Going To Die In There' website) was found at the scene of Nikki and Sam's murders. There's a description of the contents of the book on Wikipedia. I don't recommend even reading that. It's vile. Seriously.
Next chapter: Moms and more from 2010. A little bit of up and down for the emotional roller coaster.