Chapter 5:
Whatever that place may be called that Tate went to- there among the shadows, among lost souls he would have considered not unlike his own, were it not for the fact that, to him, it was clear that he possessed no such thing- it was still. They were many there but they didn't even feel each other's existence for no one truly existed once they went there. In this great nothingness they assembled and felt nothing, perceived nothing and lost all sense of self only to be violently brought back into a world they had hoped they had left behind for good. Every time Tate was pulled from the darkness it became worse for him to return to the house. The shadows held no damped comfort for him; they didn't make him hope and experience for even a second that he had left the world of the living.
In truth, he went there to seek her. He had always been strange like that: Where others shrunk from death he reveled in it and when they wanted to let themselves slip into unconsciousness, her face appeared to him from within the darkness. Slowly it would peek at him from among the blackness and bring light into that place which knew no such thing. Among the dead, lost, and hopeless he found life. That was the only time it came to him; it was the only time she came to him. He would stay in the shadows for as long as possible, but he was always thrown back into the blinding light and deafening noise of the world of the living.
What a cruel trick it was, to allow the homeless feel the empty, unexpectant embrace of nothingness, only to then push them out again. Every time made the light seem brighter, the noise louder, the life more unbearable. To be denied death, only allowed to indulge in short spells of it, and afterwards feeling, more strongly than ever, what torture it was to live. The lost dead's only comfort was, at the same time, their great torture: They knew what they could have, they knew the state of nothing one could achieve, but they were forever damned to be denied that pleasure.
Tate felt much the same as all the other souls at being brought back, though for different reasons. In the dark he was good. The light shone upon him. He wasn't faced with nothing, but with everything that could make people see life as something wonderful. When he went there, there was hope for him, but it was all too quick to leave when he returned to the reality of the house and the 'life' inside it.
This was also the case when he found himself in the darkened living room. The place reminded him of the shadows. It was hardly more cheerful, though not quite as still.
He didn't know what time it was. He didn't know what day it was - not even what year it was, but what he did know was that he felt different. Like some of the light had stayed with him. But there was also a weird, heady feeling he had. Like he had taken some strong medicine and felt only half conscious. When he stood up he became dizzy. Tate was shaky on his feet. He couldn't explain any of it to himself. Every inch of his body seemed covered in a prickly sensation. For want of a better explanation he would have said that he felt like in the moment he died- only in reverse. Instead of life slowly seeping out of him and resulting in a silhouette of who he used to be, his body felt denser, more real. His mind wandered less fast- Tate was in one place at a time. He no longer moved from room to room, only seeing flashes of what was happening around him. The drunk feeling went and was replaced by lucidity.
Violet didn't know how she had done it, but she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn't remember getting up or leaving her room. She was starting to go crazy. There were long flashes of darkness between short periods of consciousness. And yet she moved around as she always had done, only with the exception that the longer she was dead, the less she pretended to be alive. She no longer ate and drank as she had done for months after her death- it had been as if she didn't want to accept her fate, like the final nail hadn't been put in the coffin.
As she stood there, the events of the previous night or previous day came to her- perhaps it had been a lot longer ago, she hardly had a concept of time anymore. Violet shuddered at her own reflection. She seemed to have changed. Whatever it was that had entered her room that night- it and its actions had taken a toll on her. Her back stung. The pain made her close her eyes, though she relished it. She hadn't felt anything for so long that even that was a slight relief to her. Violet's thoughts weren't as clouded anymore, though she wished they still were. There was nothing in her mind but the whispers that flew around her room and crept into her ear, the nails that scratched her and the presence that would terrorize both the living and the dead.
Violet turned around to examine her back. The scratches were just as deep and visible as they had been in her room. She let her fingers trace her shoulder-blades and over her back, as far down as she could reach.
Something had happened and it had been her who had allowed it to. She had found the book. She had opened it, read it even, though as soon as she started to read it, the book took on a life of its own. It read her- it knew all her fears and made them appear before her and Violet had a feeling it could do far more than that, if placed in the right hands. And if placed in the wrong hands- who knew what havoc it could wreak?
Only then did she realise she had left the book in her room. She knew the ghosts in the house. Quite a few of them had grown evil in death- the grudges they held when alive had been nurtured in the time since their death and they longed for an opportunity to vent the anger they felt. Violet didn't know what exactly was written in the book and she wasn't going to let any of the other ghosts find out before her.
She walked back into her room. Violet could sense the alert eyes and ears of all the others in the house- they too had noticed the change in the atmosphere. For the moment they kept to themselves. She had to act before any of them decided to leave the nooks they slipped into, and came to see what was happening.
The book lay on the floor. Without giving herself the time to hesitate, Violet walked towards it and picked it up. She didn't know what to do with it. It was obvious that she would have to destroy it. The only methods to do that would be tearing it into shreds or burning. There was no way Violet was going to open that book again. Everything inside her pulled together at the feeling of the leather of the book in her hands. The longer she held it, the stronger this tingling repulsion towards the object in her hands became.
Violet's mind started to become confused again- the evil beings crept from their hiding spots and came closer to her again. She had to do something before she would pass out once more. In an instant Violet was out of the room and bounding down the staircase. Her steps were heavy and loud on the old wood. Some ghosts collected at the top of the staircase but she paid no attention to them. There was no use in being secretive now- soon there would be no secret for her to keep.
She ran into the living room. Her parents sat in front of the lit fire, the baby in their arms. They hardly noticed her and if they did, they didn't let her know it. Violet threw the book into fire from a distance and she stood to watch it burn to ashes, and with it whatever it was that had been tormenting her. But nothing happened. Violet stared at the book among the flames. Her hands shook at her side, her eyes were wide open.
It couldn't be- It had to burn. She couldn't do this. She couldn't stay in the house with the book.
Violet's knees were weak under her body. She fell to the ground before the fire.
"Burn! Burn you piece of shit- Why won't you burn?"
She reached her hands into the fire so she could cover the book with the wood that was burning bright and hot. It only had to catch fire. It wasn't hot enough yet for it to burn. Violet kept digging through the fire, scraping up ash and soot as her fingers grazed across the stone of the fireplace. She screamed both out of frustration and pain. Her skin was blistering and melting off the flesh that lay beneath it. And despite all this the book still refused to burn. It sat among the fire and seemed to mock her foolishness- What made her think that a book powerful enough to conjure up the spirits that were in her room last night, could be destroyed by throwing it into fire?
Meanwhile, Tate stood in the doorframe of the living room. Violet's screams tore at him. There were tears running down his face. He couldn't ignore her pain even if her family could. They ignored her because they didn't have it in them to care about anyone but themselves anymore. All of the ghosts had become either evil, intent on revenge on whoever was unfortunate to come their way, or entirely self-absorbed. Tate, however, was neither. He still felt for others. He still had a wider range of emotions than the others. The strongest was his love for Violet, though. It had been ever since he had discovered it and in that moment it was more powerful than his better judgement.
He was by her side in a moment and pulled her hands out of the fire. Violet was far too exhausted to resist him. He couldn't bear to look at her hands. They were charred almost to the bone. Violet kept muttering , saying that something "wouldn't burn". She looked around with wild eyes, but never up at him. He couldn't decide what hurt more: Seeing her this frail and injured, or not being given any attention, although he was the only one who cared about her. Damn it, why wouldn't she let him in? Why was she putting this blockage between them? He was there for her- he always had been. When no one else was there, he was.
It was almost enough to make him want to drop her on the floor. He had done wrong things in the past, it was true, but why wouldn't she allow herself to see that he had changed for her?- because of her?. Tate carried her out of the living room. He wanted to calm her down, but he didn't know what to say. Secretly he was afraid that the sound of his voice would only make things worse. He carried her up into the bathtub. All the others were watching. He carried her past them all and kicked the bathroom door closed when he was inside with her. Tate slowly lowered Violet down into the bathtub and switched on the cold water. He could hardly see past the tears that were blurring his vision. The scene that was playing out just then was too similar to one he had experienced only a few months ago- at least he thought months had passed since then. But then she had been his and now she wouldn't even look at him.
Violet groaned in the bathtub.
" It stings- God it stings so much."
She too was crying. Tate was standing at a distance from the bathtub. He didn't know how close he could get to her.
Her groans were becoming more agonised. Violet was all but screaming.
" It stings so much! Make it stop. Someone make it stop!" Sobs were making her shoulders shake. She was thrashing about in the bathtub half mad with pain and fear.
Tate had to kneel next to the bathtub then. He couldn't allow her to injure herself even more. He held her shoulders. Violet still threw her head around, screaming.
"Please stop, please. You have to calm down. Shit, it's gonna stop, ok, Vi? You hear me? It won't hurt much longer. It's gonna heal. It all heals, remember? Vi, please!"
"No, no- Nothing heals! Look at my hands. Look!" Tate had to turn his head away. He couldn't bring himself to look at Violet's burnt hands.
"No, you're in shock. Listen, it all heals now. Nothing can hurt any of us anymore."
She answered him with groans and screams, only to faint in his arms. Tate had to hold her up so her head wouldn't sink in the water. Violet tipped forward, her long hair hung in wet strands. That was when he saw a scratch that extended from her neck down under the collar of her T-Shirt. He lifted the fabric to look at Violet's back. The network of scratches and the bruises surrounding them hurt him more than her, or so he imagined.
He held Violet's head in both his hands. She was leaning against the edge of the bathtub. Tate pressed his forehead against hers.
"What's been going on, Vi? Tell me what's been going on!" He began slowly, but by the end of the sentence his voice was louder than he wanted it to be. His anger had always been stronger than him, but Tate had to control himself. He had lost too much to anger. He couldn't lose Violet again. Whatever it took, he would make her listen to him. He would make sure that she would let him in again.
He was still crying, but it didn't wake Violet up. Her hands were limp in the water.
A/N: Again, I apologise. I just didn't have any time for writing until now, but I really want to finish this story! Than you for all the reviews I really appreciate them and thank for staying with this story although I haven't updated very frequently (aka: hardly ever)! So thank you again. I appreciate every review, every follow, every view and it is just lovely to see this much appreciation for my writing!