2018 - Halloween, mid-morning

Ben left Patrick to his gourd shopping and guilt and went to grab some kiwi fruit for Violet and some peaches for Hayden. He even picked up some strawberries for Vivien even though he knew she wouldn't touch them while they were fighting. It wasn't as noble a gesture as it was intended to seem. He was only doing it so she couldn't score it against him for not bringing her something he was bringing the rest of the women he counted as his.

As an afterthought he picked up a banana for Hayden's monster baby. He wouldn't have thought the thing capable of enjoying food but she seemed to enjoy the cake at the birthday party as much as any other baby he'd seen. It would be an interesting experiment, seeing how she reacted to a banana, another favorite of babies everywhere.

He was considering what other experiments he could do with the tot when he got back to Murder House. He knew immediately that there was company on the porch even though he didn't see her until he stepped into the shade of the roof.

"Hello, Chloe," he smiled. "I'm surprised to see you here."

The cheerleader had been sitting near the wall but she got up and dusted the back of her short skirt. "I'm sorry," she smiled self-consciously. "Doctor Harmon, right? You- you said if I wanted to talk-"

"Of course," he assured quickly. "I meant what I said. Come on inside."

He pushed the front door open and let her go in first. He pushed it closed again once he followed her inside. "I was just down at the farmer's market. I need to drop these things by the kitchen real quick then I'm all yours." He started toward the kitchen then hesitated. "My office is down the hall there. Would you like me to bring you something to drink?"

She smiled. "Do you have any Perrier or Schwepps?"

"Do we have Perrier?" Ben grinned. With Chad in the house, that went without saying. "We practically have it on tap. I'll bring you a cold one."

He headed for the kitchen then and left the fruit on the counter. He was humming by the time he got the cap off the little green bottle of sparkling water. He carried it and a cup of coffee back to his office where he found Chloe perched on the edge of the long black leather couch. He nudged the door shut behind himself with one foot then brought her the bottled water.

She smiled that pretty little smile again as she took it. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Ben said. He set his coffee cup down and went to fetch his rolling chair. He pulled it right up next to the couch and sat down. "So tell me. What's on your mind?"

She had a drink from the bottle then lowered it. She looked at him with big brown eyes full of sorrow, fear, and the faint light of hope. "You seem so... normal."

He found the comment odd but he covered it with a quirky smile. "You're probably the first person who's ever said that to me." He had a sip from his coffee cup and set it aside on the nearby table.

She giggled softly, a little nervous but amused too. "I mean it. Every-" The smile died. "Everyone at Westfield... They're so. Dead."

Ben sat forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. He glanced at the wound in her chest. "Can't you heal?"

She looked at him blankly.

He tilted his head a little, trying to encourage some sort of answer with his open look. He got nothing. "You haven't tried to heal that injury?"

She blinked and shook her head slowly.

"Try it."

Her eyes got wider. "How?"

Ben's brows knit. "How? You just. Do it." He realized that wasn't helpful and added: "Try imagining the bone and tissue coming back together. Visualize the damage smoothing away. Closing up. Fixing itself. Think about what you looked like before the damage."

She set her water down and shut her eyes and followed his instructions. She'd looked in mirrors so often, it was very easy to picture herself the way she used to be. She focused. A thin line of concentration appeared between her fine brows.

"Is it gone?" she asked after a moment.

"No."

She opened her eyes and sighed sadly. "I did what you said."

"I know," Ben said gently. He patted her nearest knee. "I'm sorry. Every ghost is different. Most of the ones I know can heal themselves but there are several who can't seem to."

For an instant he saw himself atop the girl, his hand up her skirt, his lips almost on hers. He blinked and pulled his hand away from her. She didn't seem to notice so he figured the house was just messing with him. The vision had a direct affect on his cock though; he shifted a little so his navy blue sweater hid the evidence better.

"Why are you helping him?" she asked.

"I'm helping a lot of people," Ben said magnanimously. He could tell she didn't follow so he broke it down more. "Tate's ruined a lot of lives. More than you know. It's a big mess and big messes usually need more than one person to clean up, no matter who made them."

She understood that. She thought about it. While she did she nibbled her lower lip in the cutest way. Ben wanted to nibble that lip too.

"Is he really going to come to the school tonight?" she asked.

Ben nodded. "I'm going to be there with him."

Chloe looked at him, concerned. "The guys are planning to beat him up. Well. Not Mr. Cannavo. He doesn't know."

"Who's Mr. Cannavo?" asked Ben.

"The choir teacher," said the cheerleader.

"Tate shot the choir teacher?" Ben wondered. Did Tate even take choir? But he was getting distracted by facts he could find out on his own, when Chloe wasn't there. He refocused.

"That's part of what's so... so hard to understand," the girl was saying. She sounded confused; confounded, even. "Only a couple of the people he killed even knew who he was. I never did anything to him. I don't remember ever even seeing him before that day."

Ben steepled his index fingers and touched the tips to his chin while he thought. "Do you remember dying?"

She gave him a funny look but then shrugged. "No. The last thing I remember was hiding. Under the table." Her expression misted over and tears brightened her eyes. "And hearing the gun. And- and his boots. And he was whistling. He was whistling like- like he was just... having a stroll around!"

She lapsed into tears and covered her face with her manicured hands. Ben felt bad; he hadn't expected her to recall so much about her death. Clearly the ghosts of Westfield were not the same as the ones he'd been studying the past few years. He moved over to the couch so he could put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his embrace and wept on his side for a little while.

When the crying jag had run its course she sat up and reached for one of the tissues from the box on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," she sniffled.

"Oh, don't be," Ben reassured. He rubbed her back gently. "That's what therapists specialize in: We're great shoulders to cry on. It's part of the job description."

She gave him a teary chuckle and delicately blew her nose. The she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. She was so vulnerable and beautiful. He brushed the line of her jaw, removing a tear she'd missed. Her cheeks pinked delicately and she glanced away briefly. When her eyes met his again the invitation was clear. Her plump lips parted slightly.

There was a split second where Ben acknowledged that he was going to do something he shouldn't. And then he was kissing her. And she kissed back with a vengeance that surprised him. Her slender arms circled his neck and they sank into the couch together. This time when his hand went up that short, pleated skirt it wasn't just in his mind. He palmed soft, warm girl-flesh and nipped at her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth briefly before thrusting his tongue into her sweet mouth again. Oh, God, she tasted like heaven.

Petting turned to groping turned quickly to stripping the bare minimum of clothing required to make sex possible. Her cotton panties got hooked on her left sneaker on their way down; neither of them cared. He went down on her, tonguing her in ways she'd never experienced with Kyle. Ben had her writhing and moaning so quickly it gave him rush of dominance. He didn't let up till she came and when she did he moved in for the kill. He mounted her, groaning in her ear as he penetrated her.

She moaned again, sweet and soft. She wrapped her athletic legs around his middle, clinging to him as he set into a gentle rocking rhythm. He was strongly tempted to just ravish her; he could feel that she was the type of girl who would like it. But he took his time. He wanted to make love, not fuck. He wanted Chloe to want him again. So he treated her like a lover, not a convenience. He kissed and nibbled and murmured her beauty and worth to her. When he felt like he was getting close to orgasm he stopped. His heart was pounding furiously.

"I'm about to cum," he whispered. "Do you want me to pull out?"

Of course they didn't have to worry about pregnancy. It was a respect thing, a hold-over notion from his own youth. She shook her head and smiled a dreamy little smile. He smiled back, kissed her and kept going. The climax was amazing. Ben saw stars. It was sweeter than Christmas candy.

"Ben!" Hayden shouted from the doorway. "What the FUCK?!"

He pulled away from Chloe and hastily shoved his dick back in his pants, zipping up even as he rose from the couch. He tried to shield the girl from Hayden's view as she stalked closer, not that it mattered much now.

"Hayden," he said, voice cracking. "Just calm down."

"Calm DOWN?!" she yelled, wild-eyed. The light fixture overhead trembled. "You want me to calm down when I just saw you fucking that little whore!?"

The older girl stopped just on the other side of the coffee table. Behind Ben, Chloe grabbed her panties and curled up in Ben's shadow to quickly wrestle them on. Hayden's rage terrified the cheerleader.

"Hayden," said Ben more sternly. "Back off! She didn't know about you."

Pain flashed across Hayden's face and she clutched her middle like he'd just punched her in the stomach. Of course Ben hadn't told the girl about her. He never told anyone anything about her. Ever. She whimpered and turned away, unable to straighten. She thought she'd won. Ben was out of his wife's room. He'd been sleeping with Hayden again. She had something that she could believe was his baby. But it was all a lie. A big fat lie she'd told herself. Just like before. She sobbed, a wretched sound that rose to a wail.

"Why do you keep doing this to me!?" she screamed, turning on him. "All I ever did was love you!"

He took a step toward her, feeling badly, but she retreated quickly. She didn't want him to touch her.

"Hayden, you're bleeding," said Ben, as gently as he could.

She didn't understand what he meant. Sometimes she would cough up blood when she was upset but that was nothing unusual. Then she looked down. Her jeans were soaked with blood that stemmed from her crotch. There was a lot of blood. She swayed. Then she fell over in a dead faint.

Ben went over to her and looked down at her sympathetically. Then he looked over at Chloe. The girl was curled up, wide-eyed and frightened. "You should go," he said in that same gentle tone. "Before she comes around. You'll be at Westfield tonight?"

The cheerleader nodded, her dark ponytail bobbing with the motion.

"Go on," he urged, still gentle. "I'll see you later this evening. All right?"

She hesitated then nodded again. Then she got up and hurried to and out the door. Ben watched her go then he crouched down next to the fallen college girl. He took Hayden's chin in his hand and turned her head to one side and then the other. He sighed.

"You're a problem I can't afford to have anymore, Hayden."

He lifted her then and took her out of the office and down to the basement.

...

Author's Note:

The name of this chapter is what Lucy in the comic Peanuts (Charlie Brown) had written on her Psychiatrist's Booth. It's also a poke at Ben's naughtiness.

This was another one of those chapters where I was caught talking out loud to Ben, telling him not to be such a creep. Obviously he didn't listen to me. I'm so conflicted about him. He's a grade A womanizer and he does all kinds of unsavory things in the name of investigating ghosts and their mental makeup. And yet he's not completely off base. He does manage to help some people. And he's definitely learned quite a lot about how ghosts work. I just wish he would stop being such a creep!

For the record: Mr. Cannavo is a bit of a nod to Mr. Schuester in Glee. Since the folks who make American Horror Story are behind both shows, it had to happen.

So. Next chapter is it: Westfield, 1994. You can sew it in with the other scenes in this chapter to get the full picture of what happened that day. I have a timeline. If anyone's interested in seeing it, just write me and I'll send you a copy. I couldn't find a good place to stick it into the actual episode and it really was so I could keep straight what happened when. But I know some of you might want to see it.

Thanks for the reads and the reviews. I know it's difficult to find pleasant things to say about such unpleasant subject matter but I appreciate the comments. They help shape the outcome of this saga.