Ben sat on the staircase, watching the light get manipulated by the stain glass in the office doors. Physics had always fascinated him, as a child he wanted to be a rocket scientist. Yet as he got older the realisation that his dream would never come true daunted on him. As a high school student he had to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, never coming to a final decision. He was shipped away from his parents to a strange college filled with strange people, and he watched them. He studied them. He noticed bizarre behaviour and odd habits. He questioned them. He researched them. Eventually he realised that he would never choose an occupation, his occupation had been set since his birth. Ben was wired in a particular way and he then knew that psychiatry was his purpose. During his studies he questioned his own mind, his own sanity. He tried to improve himself and avoid all possible imperfections and quirks of the human mind, but he ultimately just dissolved his character.
The doorbell rang and he got up to answer. He glared out of the peephole, seeing the top of a blonde woman's head. Constance. He sighed and opened the door, grimacing as she gave a plastic smile.
"Hello Ben." He nodded and she began to nervously play with her fingers at her waist. "I would like to speak with my son." She pushed past the tall man, turning left and climbing down the dank stairs to the basement.
"Constance, you can't keep entering our home without permission." Ben stood at the doorway, fully understanding that his works would fly in one ear and shoot out the other.
"I'm sorry Ben, but this is important." She walked around the corner. "My son, Tate." The sound bounced off the walls. "Tate, please show yourself for the sake of your dear mother." A blonde haired teenager snorted in the corner.
"Save yourself some dignity and don't give yourself that much credit. Everyone around here will start spitting on you." He leant against the wall, his grey sweater pushed up his arms.
"My beautiful boy," She walked over to him and cupped a hand around his cheek. "What will I ever do with you?" He pushed her hand down. "Well, there is a reason for my visit. You see, Michael. He is beginning to put a strain on my poor mind." She swiped the back of her hand under her eyes. "I can't sleep with him in the next room without feeling a deep ache in the pit of my gut. Tate, you always had a partnership with the devil and it would mean everything for you to speak to Michael."
Tate let out a chuckle. "Partnership with the devil? Oh please, don't kid yourself Constance." He walked across the room. "You were the only evil in my life."
"Tate," He raised his finger into a sharp point.
"You listen here, you disgusting self pitying witch. If you love him that much then pay for some sessions with Ben. That helped me, right? Fixed me up really well didn't it?" She struggled to form a clear argument, watching her dead son behind glossy eyes. "Get out of here, this house. Stay away from this family and don't ever come back, you hear me? And if you do," His lips formed a sickly grin that made his eyes crease at the edges, "I will do the honours of replacing your right eye with a bullet."
"Take that back." He words filled with venom. His head turned slowly side to side. "You remind me of my younger self, what I would do to slap some sense into that girl." She raised her hand and hit him across his face multitudes of times. He leant against the wall and sank to the ground raising his hands to stop her.
"Please stop!" Tears began to escape his eyes and scrape down his cheeks. She gave one final blow, standing at his feet watching him wail. Constance composed herself and walked back up the stairs, her shoes clicking with each step.
Violet pulled a shoe box out from under her bed, the lid had the word memories written on it in black sharpie. She pulled it open and rolled a joint in between her fingers, searching for her lighter in her cardigan's pocket. She flicked the roller and lit it, suffocating her lungs with the smoke and ecstasy. Her parents may not be able to see her, but nothing would stop the smell tiptoeing into their noses. Violet got to her feet and turned her radio onto full volume, blaring music she didn't recognise until the windows began to shake. She swung open her door and marched out, jumping down the stairs and banging her fists against the wall. She flew into the kitchen, leaning her weight against the wall and watched her mother talk to her dad.
"At least we know that girl's still around." Ben laughed to his wife.
"Somehow I feel that's not a problem." She chuckled, then hesitated. "Do I smell smoke?" She paused and they both sat there looking like idiots.
"She's just a teenager, what do you expect of her?" Ben pulled a corner of his lip up into a contorted smirk.
Violet resisted the urge to appear to them, and sucked in a deep breath with her lips around the cigaret.
"I expect her to do the right thing. Who does she think she is? She should give us the respect we deserve." Ben pushed his arm around Vivien and kissed her golden auburn hair that curled around.
Violet pushed herself off of the wall and walked over to the couple. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck the both of you." She took one last drag then pressed it onto the marble bench top and threw it at her mother. She flipped up her middle finger and walked backwards out of the doorway, her parents not even knowing she was there. She slammed her feet onto each step and proceeded with her door as she entered her room. The music was still playing and with each beat the doorknob joined in, rattling in an enthusiastic manor. Violet punched the off button and threw herself onto her bed, screaming into her pillow. She had never been one to get frustrated, normally her rage just turned into tears. Yet she found her blood boiling and bubbling as it raced around her body. No one talked to her, there was no one to listen. Never in her life had she felt so trapped and alone. Boredom. Boredom was better than crying and screaming, and she found herself doing it more than she ever imagined possible. She heard her door creek open and made sure that she wouldn't be seen.
"I know you're here." Hayden walked over to her bed. "My guess is that you're lying here, crying about your parents and letting that Tate guy leave." Violet rolled onto her back and watched the young woman trace patterns on the blanket. "I mean, I don't blame you or anything. Your dad says he loves you, but I think that we both know that's straight from his ass. I think he says it a lot and just tries to think he means it, but let's face it, he doesn't. You know I walked in on him and your mom? I know he pretends she's me. He may have never loved me but he did wan't me. Screw him." She got up and began rummaging through the things on my drawers. "We're so similar, Violet. We both got fucked over big time and wound up dead in some shit hole of a house." She began to walk out of the door. "But you had a choice." Violet watched Hayden close the door behind her and stared into the distance. Maybe she had brought this upon herself.
Constance buttoned up the top of Michaels blue shirt, admiring the beauty that radiated from him. "Do be good, my boy." She used her finger to brush the hair out of his eyes. For a four year old he was huge, the size of a seven year old perhaps. His mind was incredibly gifted. She taught him lessons from third and fourth grade, Michael showing no strain or stress when presented with a problem. Yet he struggled to speak.
The doorbell rang and she went to welcome her guest. "Ah, Marcy hello." She showed the real estate agent through to her living room and gestured to a rose armchair. "Do sit and have a cup of tea."
The woman nodded and took a china plate, lifting the printed cup to her lips. "So, Constance, are you thinking of selling your home?" She placed the cup and saucer on the glass coffee table.
"Yes, I was thinking of finally leaving this part of my life behind. This place is just filled with so much death." She took a sip of tea. "Do you have some form of an idea of a price?
"I have for some time. It's quite a pleasant price considering the history of this house and next door." She scribbled a number and passed it to Constance.
"Excellent. Do have some cake, I made it myself." Marcy smiled and accepted a slice of the fruitcake. She took a large bite and nodded while chewing.
"Constance, I must get the recipe." She took another bite. "This really is amazing." Michael ran into the room and sat next to her, laughing as she ate. "Hi there, Michael. You have grown so much since I last saw you."
"Yes, he seems to be growing very quickly. I think it's all the food he eats." Constance watched Marcy struggle to swallow and begin to choke. "And I will give you the recipe, my secret ingredient is a large amount of rat poison. No need to worry, you still have several hours left." She began gasping for breath and clawed at the armrests, lifting a hand to her throat. "Michael, fetch me my gloves." The blond boy ran to the kitchen and returned with a handful of yellow plastic. "Thank you, my dear." She stretched them over her hands and wiggled her fingers into the slots. "Now where to put you."