Prologue

Sometimes he'd sit out on the roof and just watch the world at night.

It was safe up there. Not to say it was dangerous down there, but something about the relief of others comforted him. Up here he didn't have to worry about the reactions to his lack of inhibitions. It was his turn to judge the rest of the city dwellers and though he seldom did, the option was nice.

But there was always someone else there to interrupt his solace.

He'd never want to hurt her. The pale-faced girl that walked down the street every night had a habit of pulling him from his thoughts. Once her footsteps had come and gone he'd found it nearly impossible to regain comfort again. She crowded his thoughts; filling and spilling over and under them, beseeching him like a vigorous cancer. He'd wondered where she was coming from and where she was going. What kind of person was she, this fragile lamb who so arrogantly dared to stand in the view of wolves?

One night he decided to find out.

"Hey."

"Hi." She stopped and turned, a little off guard, hesitant with her position. It was so casual, not at all what he'd expected from his constant need to escape her, yet consumed with the thought of her. He silently cursed himself for the lack of presentation in his unceremonious greeting.

"Where are you going?" He noticed her stiffen under his intense glare. He hadn't meant to scare her, but something in him was intrigued with the control he had over her demeanor. Somehow, her curiosity was piqued as well. She'd walked by this house almost every night- The Murder House. She'd never once considered the residents that might have inhabited the impending structure. The sudden intrusion of the strange boy hanging off the wrought iron gate was surprisingly welcome.

"Just walking home."

"From where?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I just always see you walking down here. Don't worry. I'm not stalking you or anything. I just always notice. I like to sit out on the roof on nights like this and well…it's kind of like looking at a star, you know? It's like you're so familiar but you're just so far away."

"Well it's not often you get to ask a star where it came from."

"No. But this is L.A. Plenty of stars walking about to ask questions. "

"Not the kind of stars you mean, though."

"No. Not at all." He shook his head. "They're all cheap- the celebrities. I wouldn't want to ask them anything."

She softened, finally relinquishing her resistance long enough to turn fully on her heel, plant her feet rather than have them at the ready. For now they could rest.

"Do you live in here?"

"No. I just like to sit out on some strangers roof." A broad, childish smile grew across his face in the wake of his sarcasm. She rolled her eyes in spite of herself. "Sorry." She shrugged. "It's just kind of hard to believe someone actually lives in the Murder House."

"Why's that?"

"Well I mean…it's the Murder House. Not really a title that inspires the idea of the life inside. Just the death."

"Well every dark has some light." He rolled his head to his shoulder but kept his eyes turned up at her from under thick lashes. She wasn't sure if she liked what he was implying, making her question her own motives for standing here and having such a seemingly intimate conversation with a complete stranger.

"You know, I think I'd better go." She said but he didn't see any movement in her lithe form that indicated she was ready to leave just yet.

"Why?" He asked on impulse, still watching her intently. "Did I scare you?" She said no, but she looked small, vulnerable; withdrawn, still standing there, magnetized by an energy that seemed to be emanating from him. He really didn't want her to go.

"Huh. I normally do."

"Do you normally stop and engage strangers in conversation?"

"I don't really ever stop and engage anyone in conversation."

"Well this is going to sound more cliché than I'd like it to but…why me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You seem lonely. Nobody deserves to be lonely."

"That's a pretty presumptuous observation."

"Well am I right?"

It was the first question he'd asked that she wasn't entirely prepared to answer, though neither of them had really answered the other at all. They'd both skillfully avoided having to give up any direct information. She opened her mouth to say something until she realized that her pause to respond had given her away.

"Ah ha." He mused. "Busted." Sardonic smiles had spread across both their faces

"Well so what if I'm lonely?" She laughed wistfully, tucking a mousy brown strand of choppy fringe behind her ear. "I don't think it's such a bad thing to be, do you?"

"Not all the time."

"So you know what it's like then?"

He paused as well, realizing that she'd cornered him. He was surprised to find himself defeated, as it was not an easy feat for someone to sneak around his own walls.

"Busted." She grinned, mimicking his brassy declaration.

"You caught me." He put both of his hands up in surrender and stepped closer, feet rocking on the edge of the curb. She looked down at her feet and back of the length of him, inhaling sharply and releasing slow and shaken. She too, had her toes against the curb, daunted by the sudden exaggeration in their height difference. But she was quickly learning how to counter his dominance. She straightened her posture, drawing her shoulders back and looked up into his green eyes, holding his consuming gaze with her own.

Neither moves. For a moment, it's as if time had frozen them both there for centuries, detached from the tangible realities of a life that once left more to be desired. But here, at the edge of the Murder House in suburban Los Angeles, they'd found something to look forward to; a riddle that for once beckoned a solution.

"Do you wanna come inside?" He asked, looking down the length of her, heat rising off her warm body in the chilled November air. He let his eyes fall lower down her face, stopping for the briefest moment at a pink, puckered mouth and down the neckline, along the gracious curvature that went on to form her shoulder and down all the other curves that made her up. The air was hot between them, both breathing cautiously in the rushes of a dangerous teenage infatuation.

"What are you going to do to me in there?"

"Well what do you think I'm going to do to you in there?" He craned his neck down, his words dancing feverish, warm breath cascading over her ear. "I'm going to murder you."

Chapter One

Tate never much cared for gay couple that occupied the house.

It wasn't the fact that they were gay that bothered him, but they were just so loud. When they weren't bickering or crying, they were scurrying about the house rambling on about color swatches, living room themes and duvet covers (whatever those were). They were scarcely able to hold his attention. He much preferred the company of the other occupants of the house.

The trouble with them however, is that they hardly enjoyed him. The living residents were at least ignorant enough of his presence that he didn't earn a sneer every time they'd pass by him. Until he killed them, that is.

How foolish. Now he was stuck with them. And now they were bitter, just as everyone else was.

Most days he sat alone in his former room, unable to find a comfortable place in the lack of atmosphere. It was always lonely when the house was unoccupied. Every so often however, he'd find an old book or a box of artifacts left behind to entertain his isolation.

But now…now there was someone new. Someone living and breathing, heartbeat and all. Someone with a clean slate. And that was something he could work with. A guinea pig of sorts. Right now he was just testing the waters to see how much he could actually away with.

"So what's your weapon of choice?" She asked, strolling around the kitchen, opening drawers and surprisingly not finding much. There was something uncomfortable about how desolate such a place was.

"Probably a knife." He answered with his back to her. He opened the one drawer that contained anything- one long, dull butter knife.

"Really?" She took a curious step towards him.

"Yeah." He turned and took slow strides towards her, eyeing the knife and rubbing his thumb against the old serrated edges. "A knife is personal. Guns and all that…that's business." He stood uncomfortably close to her now, curious eyes peering up into his darkened ones. "But a knife really gets the blood pumping." He pressed it hard against her chest. "It's like a passionate, raging spectacle. And all that blood…" He trailed off shaking his head, blonde curls brushing her forehead.

She scoffed. "Yeah. There's something really intimidating and personal about ripping someone apart with a butter knife."

He threw his head back and walked away, throwing up his arms. "There's not much to work with here, okay? Do I get points for creativity?" He haphazardly left the knife on a counter and sauntered through the threshold past the grand staircase, an odd rhythm in his step. She hurried behind him, not entirely convinced that she could stand to be alone in this house. But she was enthralled, taking special care to gaze at every detail of the great old house. She almost felt lost, in a time warp as Tate led her into the parlor.

"This is my favorite room." He grinned, standing in the center of the impressive, empty expanse, turning to face her and watch her reaction.

"Hot shit…" she trailed off, dazedly strolling towards him, hardly conscious of her movement as she took her macabre surroundings. "This shit is gnarly."

"Tell me about." He huffed. They stood side-by-side, eyes transfixed on the gory scene displayed on the wall. Women, naked at the feet of demons, impaled on crude instruments; The Devil himself whispering into the ears of old men clutching daggers and piercing their own hearts with tortured expressions.

"Who did all of this?"

"I'm not sure. They've been around awhile. I think the realtors are gonna put wallpaper over them or something but…I like them." He shrugged. "I guess it'll be nice to have it fixed up a bit though. They gotta make this place look real homey to sell it after all the shit that's happened here."

"Is that why it's so fucking empty in here?" She broke her trance like state and turned her head to face him. "Are you moving or something?"

"Ehh…not really, no. I just stay here while the house is empty. I know how to get in and uh…it's a nice escape from home, you know? Plus, no one ever bothers me here. The maid comes around every now and then but she never says anything." It seemed like a simple enough lie. Little did he know, this slightly twisted admission produced a better outcome than he could have anticipated.

"You just do that?" She slowly backed away, a broad grin on her face. "You sleep here and everything?"

"Sometimes." He looked away sheepishly and took small cautious steps her way. No matter where they were, it was a constant struggle of who could keep up with who, who could hold control over the situation while trying to retain an air of mystery. Tate was hesitant as he stepped towards her, unsure if he was willing to let her win this round.

"That's so sick…how big is this place?" She turned and took off at a bouncy trot through the house, swinging around the banister and up the stairs. Once she'd reached the top and looked up and down both narrow hallways, Tate appeared at the bottom. "You're derailing my tour." He called up to her. She raced excitedly down and stopped at the last step in front of him. "I wanna stay here."

"What?"

"This place is insane man. You wouldn't even notice I was here. Plus a chance to get out of my dad's house…" She trailed off and sighed happily, the mere idea inspiring a freeing sensation. "I just…I could finally be myself and not have to worry about…" She grimaced, not exactly sure how to phrase the feeling that loomed darkly over her when thinking about her father.

"Not have to worry about the pressure and judgment?"

"Yeah…" She her face back to his. "What's your name?"

"I'm Tate." He stated, nodding his head. "Who're you?"

"Lydia." Her excitement sobered and there was a genuine, heartfelt smile on her face. "Tate, could I stay here? I'll stay out of your way, I promise. I won't ever bother you unless you want me to."

"Oh I want you to." She stepped down and headed towards the door, barley noticing his suggestive intonation. She grabbed the doorknob and he turned to face her. "So is that a yes?"

"Uh yeah." He scratched the back of his head and smiled wide, averting his eyes and trying to focus on the floor. "Yeah, of course." He tried not to give away how uncomfortable translating genuine emotions to someone else made him. He didn't think she'd noticed.

"Thanks, Tate. I'll be back tomorrow with some things. Same time same place?"

"Sure."

"Cool." She slid out the front door and closed it, leaving Tate standing dazed in the foyer. He laughed in spite of himself and shook his head, wandering off to the basement, somehow feeling a little more at ease tonight.