Disclaimer – I don't own American Horror Story

Thanks for the reviews guys! I love feedback . . . Anyway; I hope things weren't too . . . confusing in that last chapter.

. . .

"Violet!" Ben yelled up the stairs. "Come on we gotta go get Lily!"

His daughter came into view, slumping down the stairs looking extremely pissed. She stopped on the last step. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because, you're mother wants us all there to great her," Ben told her, growing impatient. The last thing he needed was Vivian on his case for leaving being late to pick up her brother's daughter at the airport.

"Even you?" Violet asked. "Even though you and mom aren't even together anymore. Does that make sense to you? Because it sure as hell doesn't make sense to me."

"Vi . . ." Ben sighed. She was glaring at him with such strong hate in her eyes . . . This was his sweet baby girl, and she hated him. What had he done?

Oh, that's right. Totally fucked up his life and his family, that's what.

"Can we please just get through picking up your cousin at the airport? Then I promise you can get back to your teenage angst," Ben said sarcastically.

Violet took the final step down the stairs and got right up in his face. "You don't get it do you? I don't like you, Dad. In fact, I hardly love you anymore. You've got a totally fucked up mind because you think that it's okay to cheat on your wife that just lost her baby. You probably didn't even think of me when you did that, did you? And then again, I caught you with Moira. Now that was just flat out sick Dad, Moira's like sixty years old. You really weren't thinking of me then because you knew that I was home that time. You treat mom and I like shit. Now, I'm not claiming that I love mom or anything, because personally she disgusts me too, but not as much as you do. Now, I'll play the happy little family act with the two of you, but the second you piss me off, I swear to God I will run away and never look back. You won't find me and I won't miss you. Now let's go to the stupid airport and get my stupid cousin before I change my mind."

She walked away after that, leaving Ben alone. He felt hot steaming tears fall down his cheeks. His daughter had just pointed out all his flaws, and to top it off told him she didn't even love him anymore. This was possibly the worst part of this whole messed up experience, he would be losing Violet. And someday, he'd probably lose the unborn twins as well.

There was a loud honk from outside, followed by Vivian screamed, "BEN GET OUT HERE NOW WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

He wiped the tears off his face and recomposed himself. Violet was right, they needed to at least play happy family.

For today anyway.

. . .

Blonde hair . . . hazel eyes. Sometimes they were greenish, like her mother's. Ew, no. Don't think about it like that. Violet's nothing like her mother. Violet is . . . Violet. There's no one else in the world just like her. That's the best part . . .

Tate smiled. Thinking about Violet made him miss her, but she'd be home soon. He was waiting in her room. She'd like that. And he would soon meet Lily as well. He wondered if they looked anything alike, or if they had similar personalities. Could Lily really see other things? There was no real way to tell.

Tate sat straight up on Violet's bed when he heard the door creak open. It was too early for her to be back here . . .

Moira entered the room. "What are you doing here, Tate?"

"Waiting for Violet," Tate replied coolly. "And you?"

"My job," Moira snapped. She fully entered the room and began dusting Violet's things. "I swear this girl just attracts dust! I have to come in here three or four times a week. It's insane . . ."

Tate looked down. He became lost in thought, subconsciously wringing his hands.

"Penny for your thoughts," Moira offered, probably trying to be nice. She was always so mean to his family, but ever since she had learned that he hated Constance, she had started warming up to him.

"They're probably worth more than that right now," he admitted. "Quality entertainment . . ."

Moira gave him a slight half-grin. There was silence for a few minutes, which Moira spent dusting Violet's picture frames.

"Moira . . . why does Dr. Harmon see you . . . differently?" Tate finally asked. Moira looked at him. "He does see you differently, doesn't he? He sees you the way you used to be . . . And it's not just him, it's all the other guys that walk through here. Why?"

Moira sighed. "Some questions are hard to answer, Tate. In truth, I'm not one hundred percent sure myself. But I think you know the just of it . . ."

"You're . . . a ghost, aren't you?" he asked. He had known it for a while, but had never had the guts to say it out loud.

"I guess you could call it that," Moira said. "I prefer to think of it as eternal damnation, but . . . that's just me. As for your other question . . . do you have any theories?"

"You told Mrs. Harmon that woman see people's true intentions, or something like that. But men are blinded by what they think they see . . . So, you're true intentions are those of a nice old lady, but sometimes you come across as a slut?"

Moira gave him a rotten look. "Something like that."

"How did you know?" Tate asked quickly, before he could become too afraid to finish his sentence. "That you were dead. That you were a ghost."

Moira was silent for a moment. "Well . . . I guess somehow you just . . . know, Tate. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he lied. He didn't want to admit to what had happened on Halloween. How he was beginning to think that his visions hadn't really been visions. That he really had killed all those people. That afterwards, he had died too.

The silence that fell was awkward. Neither of them knew what to say.

"Well." Moira grabbed her duster and flattened her apron. "I'd better get to cleaning the rest of the house for Mrs. Harmon's niece."

"How long will Lily be here?" Tate asked.

Moira shrugged. "Through Christmas at least. Her parents want her here until she gets better, but by the way Dr. Harmon and his wife make her sound, that won't be anytime soon."

"What's . . . wrong with her?"

She sighed. "Sounds like she's just crazy. But I'd watch out for her if I were you. Everyone can see me because I let them, the other spirits that live here . . . aren't so kind. If she catches sight of any of them and you notice . . . well, you'd better tell someone."

By someone, she meant herself or one of the other spirits, that much Tate knew. But more questions still swam through his mind. Why could everyone see Moira, but not the others? And why could he and Violet see them all? Where was Addie? Why hadn't she been by in so long? Why couldn't he remember so much of his past . . . everything he thought of was drawing up blank. Why was it that the only recent memories he could fully recall were of him being in this house? Except on Halloween . . . he and Violet had left on Halloween . . .

Questions, questions . . . so many. Too many. It hurt his head. Was that what was hurting his head? How long had that pain been there in his brain? It felt like forever . . . More questions! They never ended, he never ran out. Millions of questions but no answers . . . it was maddening.

The girl. The girl he had chopped in half the day Violet had almost been killed. That was one.

The five teenagers at the beach. He was sure they were telling the truth, even if he didn't remember it. That made six.

How many others? How many others had he killed? (More questions). How many lives had he ended? Lives like Violet had . . . would he end her life? What if he had to do it? What if she begged for him to take her away . . .? Would he do it then?

Think about what you know, he told himself. No more questions, just facts. Okay. You know that you can only leave the house on Halloween, for some reason. You know that you spend all your time here. You know that you love Violet. You know that you've killed at least six people. You know that Violet's cousin Lily is coming for a visit. You know that Moira's a ghost. You know that you hate your mother. But why do you hate her? Is there a reason? Wh—

No. He made himself stop. No questions. You know that you see a therapist named Dr. Harmon. His daughter, Violet, is your girlfriend. You know that Violet used to cut herself. You know that Violet tried to kill herself. You know that Violet promised you never to hurt herself again. You know that Dr. Harmon's worried about Violet. You know that you're worried about Violet. You know that you're up here to surprise her. You know that she'll probably be happy to see you. You know that if you get caught by Dr. Harmon in his daughter's bedroom, he'll bust a cap up your ass. You know that Violet tried to have sex with you on the beach. You know that you liked that she wanted that. You know that she stopped. You know it was because you were afraid. You know you're a wimp for it. You know that most guys would have done it with her anyway. You know that that doesn't bother you. You know you don't want to take advantage of her. You know that you scared that bitch Leah for her in the basement. You know Infantata helped you. You know that you were the first boy to give Violet a flower. You know you painted that flower black. You know you have blonde hair and brown eyes. You know Violet also had blonde hair, but her eyes are hazel. You know Mrs. Harmon's a redhead. You know Moira's got red hair too. You know that Dr. Harmon had an affair with a girl named Hayden. You know that she ended up being pregnant. You know that she's dead now, because you've seen her ghost roaming around, confused. You know that you're just picking random things about your life that aren't questions. You know that it's helping you either way. You know that you like Nirvana. You know that Violet likes the same music you do. You know that you have scars on your writs. You know that Violet and Lily will be sharing this room. You know that the Harmon's will be home soon. You know that when they're home, you'll be able to talk with Violet. You know that'll make you feel better . . .

Thinking had made him calm. He felt more . . . relaxed now. More himself.

He heard the door creak downstairs, and a brilliant idea struck him. He had tried to scare Violet before in the basement by putting on that rubber suit thing. It hadn't worked, as least she claimed it hadn't. His ghost story didn't work either. But he could scare her. He knew it.

So, he hopped off the bed and crawled underneath it.

"Girls dinner will be ready at six!" Mrs. Harmon called from downstairs.

"Whatever, Mom!" Violet yelled back. Her door opened and Tate saw two sets of feet enter. One was Violet, he recognized her shoes. The other must be her cousin, Lily.

"So this is my room," Violet was saying. "That one's your bed, this one's mine."

As she was speaking, she was walking over to her bed. Tate waited until she was close enough to reach, then shot his hand out and grabbed her ankle. He pulled hard, and she fell screaming to the floor. He laughed.

"You jerk!" Violet exclaimed when she realized it was him. "You scared the shit out of me!"

She grabbed his arm and pulled him out from under the bed.

"Did I scare you that time?" he asked.

"No," she lied.

"Yes, you did. She screamed, couldn't you tell?" the other girl asked. She had a dark yet somewhat innocent tone of voice

Tate turned to face the girl. She had black dyed hair that fell like a sheet across half of her face. Judging by her eyebrows, her hair was naturally a dirty blondish color like Violet's. Her clothes were black too. She reminded him of the goth girl from the beach. Stephanie Boggs.

How did I know her name?—No, no more questions! He thought. He went back to observing Lily. Her skin was pale and her eyes were black. Completely black except for the whites. It was weird; almost like an animal's eye . . . you couldn't see the pupil.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Tate. Violet's boyfriend."

He reached out her hand to her. She was about to except it, but then she paused. "Wait . . ."

"What is it?" he asked, totally confused.

Lily seemed lost in deep thought. "N-never mind. Nice to meet you, Tate. I'm Lily. Watch out, I'm certifiably insane."

He chuckled. "One thing we have in common."

That caught her interest. "Really?"

He nodded. "I . . . used to want to kill people."

"Respect," Lily agreed, smiling and nodding. "I'm just your average everyday case of psychotic visions . . . I see death . . . everywhere. Sometimes it's really bad. But . . . I guess that's what Uncle Ben's for."

"Uh yeah, Dr. Harmon's a great therapist," Tate agreed.

"Well, glad to know that you two get along," Violet said with a little hostility. "That makes two."

"Violet I still don't understand what I did wrong!" Lily exclaimed, pleading.

"Never mind," Violet said. "Let's just . . . unpack your shit and get back to living our lives."

Seeing Violet in a bad mood not only upset Tate but it also scared him. So, when she tried to walk away from him—probably to help Lily with her bags—he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over the rail of her bed along with him, where he proceeded to kiss her, hard.

When they broke apart, she was smiling. Tate loved it when she smiled, so he smiled too.

"Help me with Lily's stuff?" she asked. He nodded.

"Weirdest relationship ever," Lily muttered under her breath, but the two love birds didn't notice. Lily knew there was something about this Tate kid, he wasn't alive, but he wasn't exactly dead either. At least, he didn't feel dead. He didn't know he was dead, it seemed. But how do you not know you're dead?

. . .

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