All right. You all know where this is going. I say that I don't own American Horror Story, wish that I did, and you guys just sort of ignore that it's written here, cause let's be honest, nobody reads disclaimers.
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CHAPTER 6: Pass Me That Lovely Little Gun
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"We have the answer to all your fears; it's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear, it's roundabout and it's somewhere here; lost amongst our winnings…"
-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, 'O Children'
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Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Tate blinked, trying to clear the blood from his eyes. It had run from the tips of his hair, down his forehead and onto his eyelashes. The entire basement stank of old pennies and salt.
Red dripped from the walls in wildly spaced arcs, pouring from the single bulb in the room, tinting the light a sick shade of crimson.
This was what happened when you killed Hugo Langdon with a butter knife half a dozen times in an hour.
Oh yes, Tate knew all too well that his father hadn't run away with the maid, like the old hag had told him once upon twenty years ago. He'd figured that out pretty much from the get-go. Of course he had.
Disturbed and lonely little boy, trapped in a haunted house bursting at the seams with the victims of violent deaths. Disturbed and lonely little boy, who spoke to his not-so-imaginary friends, all of whom lacked a pulse. Disturbed and lonely little boy, who knew all too well that the things that went bump in the night were real.
It was a miracle that he didn't go all Patrick Bateman earlier.
He preferred to vent his rage and bloodlust on the man who was responsible for his birth than the others in the house.
Tate knew better than to underestimate the power the women of this house held. And besides, he didn't really feel like taking anything out on the twins, and never Beau. Not his poor brother.
With a final effort, he shoved the stub of what was once an ordinary piece of cutlery, worn down by countless hits against bone and flesh into the wall.
"I'll take that as a cue for you being done", Hugo muttered, his dismembered limbs reattaching themselves and the intestines liberated from his abdomen returning to where they belonged. He got to his feet and dusted himself off, giving Tate one last look before he turned and walked out of the room.
The blood on the walls vanished, leaving only the knife.
Tate kept staring at his hands, seeing the stain of red that was always there. Always.
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She was tripping over her feet as she ran down the stairs.
A plethora of the worst possible scenarios rushed through her head as she stumbled.
Vivien, covered in blood. Losing the baby all over again.
Ben, bringing that stupid slut home with news of another bundle of joy.
The scene that greeted Violet Harmon, depressed teen extraordinaire, was far, far worse.
Her mother was pale as a sheet, calling her name desperately. Like a child lost in the supermarket, looking for its mother. Funny how the roles get reversed in times of fear, isn't it?
"Where's your phone?" Vivien asked frantic ally, looking between Violet and the upstairs landing as if it would come to life and eat them both.
"In my bag upstairs, why?"
"Go-go-go get it", her mother stuttered, her hand following her repetition. "Dial 9-1-1."
The doorbell rang, punctuating the situation with a more macabre symbolism. For whom the bell tolls…
"Who's that?" Violet inquired, noting how Vivien seemed to jump at the sound.
"Just go to your room, lock the door and don't come out until I tell you."
Violet stared at her mother in disbelief. The doorbell chimed again.
"Now!"
Turning and sprinting back up the stairs she had nearly broken her neck on, Violet rushed to her room, thanking god that she was allowed the small reassurance of a locked door.
Dumping her bag out onto her bed, she found no more than her iPod, the lighter Tate had left behind, her cigarette case and a few pens. She continued to sift through her things, hoping that this was just another one of her mother's paranoid episodes and it was just a very insistent vacuum cleaner salesman waiting on their porch.
She missed noticing the black-masked figure emerging from her closet.
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Why am I always the one caught in a vulnerable position? Why me?
Violet pondered her inability to remain removed from the troubles of this house.
First Tate and his whole 'ooh, I'm dead and there are other ghosts here too and stuff' thing and now this.
Tied to a chair next to her was her mother, and she glared at the three people who had decided that her house was the place to be tonight. Tonight, of all nights, when Ben, the brute, was in Boston. The one reason why Violet even tolerated him was the fact that he knew how to throw a good punch when he needed to. And even worse, she knew she couldn't count on tate to help her. Not now, not ever again.
"I-I have money", Vivien sobbed. "Please, just take anything."
"We're not here to rob you", came one of the masked women's muffled voices. "Masks off."
They removed the things covering their faces only to reveal one of the patients that Ben had spent a session with earlier that day before he ran off like some sort of startled faun.
"The transcript was very clear. It said the nurse saw Franklin. He had nothing to hide."
It was the other woman, the brunette who spoke. "Twelve minutes."
"And then the fun begins", added 'Bianca', who kept her eyes firmly fixed on Violet as she talked. Her smirk made her want to spit right in her face.
"I have a surprise for you girls", the other one continued as 'Bianca' pushed back her hair with the hand holding her knife. She stepped forwards, a white bundle in her hands, carefully unwrapping the object inside as if it was made of glass.
Inside lay a heavy ashtray, the sight making the male one chuckle with delight. "No way."
"I got it on EBay. Authenticated. It's the one he used to bash Maria."
The very thought of beating someone with a stone bowl used to extinguish cigarettes seemed to make the trio flutter with joy.
Sickos, Violet growled to herself. Then again, you made out with a self-professed psychopath. Twice.
"Let me see it", the man said gleefully, his smile growing wider as he reached over and picked it up. "Holy shit. You can feel the energy in it. This is bitchin'."
'Bianca' looked catlike in her smug grin as she purveyed the two being held captive. "Who goes first?"
"Which one's Gladys?"
This seemed to stump them for a moment, and they took a moment to think about it as the male one still stroked the bowl, starry-eyed.
The brunette pointed to Vivien, then Violet with her knife, and the blonde threw another bunch of white fabric at her.
The smell was hair-risingly sterile, stinking of rubbing alcohol and generic soap. It was almost as if they had stolen it from a real hospital. Thinking back on how much they prided themselves on details, that wouldn't have surprised Violet one bit.
"Screw you, psycho!" she shouted, shoving the fabric as far away as she could manage. Something about it felt foreboding. She didn't like the sensation it gave off. And there was also the fact that she was being held hostage by a bunch of maniacs who apparently had no interest in robbing them. That was a first.
"I'm not putting this on."
For a moment, she felt pride in herself for refusing to go silently, to give in to the demands of these insane captors of hers. She wasn't helpless right now. She was in control again.
"You have to." The three of them turned to stare at her directly, each toting a weapon of some sort. That fleeting moment of strength vanished, replaced by a chill-inducing realization of the gravity of the situation. This was real. This was happening right now. It wasn't some procedural cop show she was watching on re-run with Vivien. It wasn't some horror movie that she was viewing alone in her room. This was happening to her. Right. Now.
"Everything has to be perfect."
"Take your clothes off!" yelled the man, tearing at Violet's top. Vivien screamed, and Violet shouted. He raised his arm, the ashtray held firmly in one fist, ready to strike her.
"Take me instead!" her mother cried.
"Oh, you'll both be wearing uniforms", the brunette, who seemed to be in charge, said in a deceptively cheerful voice. "Of course, R. Franklin hated nurses. He had a bad experience with the mercury in a broken thermometer. That's why he chose to take Gladys upstairs and drowned her in the tub."
She moved to stand right in front of Vivien, her blade not six inches from her face. "And you, Maria, he saved you for last."
"R. Franklin was the first", interjected 'Bianca'. "Before Manson. He changed the culture. We're paying tribute to him."
But Violet's mother had slipped into the calm, cool façade she used to deal with her unfaithful husband and any other issue she didn't want to acknowledge. "We're not going to be part of your re-enactment."
The brunette acted as if Vivien hadn't even opened her mouth. Dumping the nurse's uniform at Violet's feet, she once again instructed her to put it on.
"You won't like it if I have to make you."
It was then that Violet managed to remember where that bright streak of 'you-can-go-shove-it-up-your-ass' was hidden under those soft brown eyes and layers of vintage clothing. Standing up, she held the fabric for a moment. And then she struck.
It wasn't the most elegant or the best-choreographed of attacks, but her head butt into the man was effective. He dropped his beloved ashtray, and mayhem ensued.
In her struggle to untie her mother all while getting away, she only managed to help Vivien kick another one of her assaulters and run. She scrambled, searching for a place to hide. Then, in a moment of bright inspiration, she ducked into another doorway, pausing to catch her breath.
"Tate."
"Tate", she pleaded, on the verge of tears. Her, his perfect, strong Violet, reduced to this. "Tate, please. I believe you. You're dead. You were right. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Tate.."
Her voice cut off as she swallowed, preparing herself to promise the impossible the impossible thing.
"Tate, if you help me, you never have to leave again. You'll never leave again."
For a second, Violet could feel the air shift, and her breath caught. Had he heard her? Would he save her?
Bianca rushed in, her arms reaching and grabbing at Violet, pulling her away.
As she fought the grip, Violet felt her heart clench and her fingers go numb.
He's not coming.
Oh god. I'm going to die.
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The water pouring from the shining silver tap would have felt freezing, if Violet hadn't already lost all feeling in her body. Pulling on stockings in front of her murderer-to-be seemed awkward.
"What the hell's taking you so long?"
Violet remained silent. Tate wasn't coming to save her. She was as good as dead. Dead, like he was. Would she become a ghost too? She hoped not.
Bianca came in, munching on the poisonous cupcake that Constance had brought over like some sort of chipmunk on Prozac.
"Really?" the brunette said, her tone condescending. "You're eating?"
"It was like, sitting there, saying 'eat me'", the blonde mumbled, her cheeks full of the cake that Violet's neighbor had probably spiked with some sort of rat poison.
Looking at Violet again, the brunette gave her a frustrated look. "Step on it! Time's a-wastin', sister!"
A noise outside made the three pause.
"Did you get all of the cell phones?" she asked, her fingers tightening around the grip of her knife.
"Yeah", Bianca replied, still eating. "I told you, the one in the kitchen and-"
Her stomach made an audible groan, and she staggered a bit. "Mmh, stomachache. Jesus, I'm gonna shit myself."
There was another sound, this time louder.
"Not in the bathroom!" the other woman exclaimed, as if her partner in crime had just committed a serious offence. "What the fuck is that?"
"G-go, I'll stay with the girl", Bianca replied. "And I promise I won't screw up the staging area."
"You'd better not fuck this up. I'll be back", the brunette said hurriedly, ducking out the door.
"Fuck-"
Bianca barely made it to the toilet before she started to vomit up anything she'd eaten in her life, thanks to Constance's skills in the kitchen.
Violet stood there, a vision in white, hesitant. Could she possibly survive this?
"Get-", the remaining woman started in between heaves. "Get in the tub."
One foot in the ice-cold water, Violet shivered. But not because of the temperature.
There, in the doorway, covered in blood, stood her knight in second-hand sweaters.
"Tate."
The word was quiet.
It made him smile, raising something dull and silver. Something already drenched in gore.
"Hello, Violet."
He drove the piece of metal into Bianca- who had only just stopped retching- 's neck.
"I missed you…" His voice lingered on the last syllable, drawing it out as his victim bled out.
Violet opened her mouth to speak.
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Right. Soo, I did what I promised to myself I wouldn't.
I...
I copied dialogue directly from the show. And it took me so. Damn. Long.
I'm sorry if it seems boring because of this, but I needed to get that bit out of the way for Violet to finally admit to herself that even if she does want to seem strong, she really, really does need Tate to rely on, just as much as he relies on her. But on the bright side, from here on in, it'll be even more AU than before, and there'll be less direct quotation and I can shape the characters into exactly what I need them to be.
On to thank yous:
Readers: You guys are great. I say it every time, but I really do mean it. Thanks.
Favorites/Alerts (and the people who have added me on either one): You people are even better :D I love you guys.
Reviews: You each get your own personal thank you, so here goes...
MrsTateLangdon: Thank you thank you :) And I updated, so I hope that makes you happy :D
vixenXfreezepop: You're awesome, and you've stuck with this story from the beginning, so that makes you doubly awesome. I have a definite ending in mind for this story, but all that goes on in-between is fair game, because I write these chapters on a weekly basis, and I usually only finish them a few minutes before I post. But I promise, the end will be well worth the wait, and the journey there will hopefully be just as good :)
jandjsalmon: Again, a wonderful person who has been there every chapter :D The intensity will only ramp up, and so will the Violate. My deviation from cannon will increase, but I hope that I will still manage to keep the characters well within their possible realities and don't make it too unbelievable. Thanks again :)
On a more final note, I might, might, MIGHT put an M scene in this story eventually. I'm still on the fence about it. I want to hear feedback on that, because that will influence my decision. As much as I write this for me, I do write it for other people to enjoy, and I would prefer to lead this story in a direction that makes everyone happy. Please, tell me what you think.
Merida, signing off.