...

Tate watched the blaze from the top of the same hill where Kyle had tackled him earlier. There was some definite satisfaction in watching the school burn and a strong sense of relief as well. He watched till the first of the flashing emergency lights showed up at the parking lot. Right behind the cops and fire trucks were the news vans.

He got to his feet and was going to leave but he saw a couple of people heading toward his hill. Despite the ash covering them he could tell it was Ben and Violet. Tate didn't want to talk to anyone, not even them. He especially didn't want to see the look on Violet's face. He didn't want to see what she knew reflected in her eyes. But he couldn't just walk away either.

Father and daughter crested the hill together. Tate didn't look directly at either one of them. He folded his arms and ignored the hot tears that slid down his face.

"Why?" Ben asked. It was the question of the century. "Why did you do it, Tate?"

"Dad..." Violet said.

"You wouldn't understand," Tate said, cutting off whatever objection she had. He didn't want her saying anything about anything. "It doesn't fucking matter. It's done."

"That was your plan?" said Ben in a more challenging tone. He didn't like being dismissed - or left out of such a vital loop like blowing up schools. "To tear the place down?"

Tate shrugged, a gesture that was almost lost under the coat. "No. My first plan didn't work." He suffered a flash of anger then. "But this was better because now it can't do anything anymore."

"Tate, it was a school," the therapist said carefully. "It couldn't do anything before."

"Dad, don't," Violet tried again. But it was too late.

Tate glared at Ben then turned away in a flutter of coat tails and headed down the hill, away from the wreckage. Violet shot her father a look of blended irritation and impatience. Then she started after the other teen.

"Tate," she said, hurrying as best she could while going downhill. Her belief in gravity was inconvenient but not something she wanted to wrestle with while trying to figure out what to say to a guy who just blew up her old school. "Tate, stop."

He glanced back at her but didn't even pause. "Why? So you can tell me I'm wrong too?" He knew that wasn't her intent but he didn't want to think about anything.

"Tate, please," she said as they reached the bottom of the hill.

She put her hand on his elbow and he stopped then. He shut his eyes and tipped his head back, just soaking up that light touch even though he could barely feel it on his arm through the coat. He could feel it inside and it was a painful slice of heaven.

"Why didn't you wait for us?" she asked.

It wasn't what he expected to hear. He looked at her funny. More tears dripped from his jaw. "You wouldn't've let me take the guns."

"No shit," she said with a look that said the same thing. "Why did you bring them?"

Tate glowered again and stole a look Ben's way. "Because," he said. He paused for a long moment. Then: "I wanted to kill the school. It just seemed... right. Using the same things." His face screwed up then as he fought back a full-blown cry. "I'm going home."

He started walking then, not looking to see if the Harmons followed. They did.

"You know," said Ben after a bit. He spoke to Violet but he made sure he was talking loud enough that Tate could hear, even though he was a few feet ahead. "Those kids were looking pretty good there, after the fire. Did you notice?"

Violet looked at her father strangely. He gave her a meaningful look that urged her to play along. Then she got it. "Yeah," she said, reflecting. "Yeah, I guess they did. I wonder why they never healed up before."

"They couldn't," Ben said wisely. "I thought maybe it was just a few of them but none of them could. Not until the school blew up, from the looks of it."

Violet peered at him. She hadn't made that connection but now that it was spelled out for her she couldn't understand how she'd missed it. "Holy shit. You think..?"

Ben quirked a half-smile. "People keep saying Murder House has a weird control over the ghosts in it. I don't see why another haunted location wouldn't be the same way."

Tate's step had slowed a bit as he listened in on the conversation. He hadn't seen any of his victims close up after the explosion. He hadn't thought about the possibility that it might free them in ways other than what movies portrayed. They hadn't all suddenly ascended to heaven in a beam of white light but maybe he had freed them of some part of their cursed existence.

Ben's smile grew. He could tell Tate was listening and that the conversation was having the desired effect. He was about to add another layer when a car passed. The tires squealed as the driver slammed on the brakes. The vehicle stopped quite suddenly, just past the three of them. They all turned to see why it had stopped.

Tate's eyes got huge. "Oh, shit!" he whispered, recognizing the car. Terror shot through him, making him forget his pains and woes.

The driver rolled the window down and Constance's head popped out. She was raging mad. "Get in! NOW!"

No one had to ask who she was talking to. Tate felt a strong urge to run. But there was nowhere to run to. Sure, he could run and avoid her right that moment but come dawn he'd be stuck at the house where he couldn't hide from her.

"Mama..." he said as he moved that way. Fresh tears leaked out. He didn't have a follow-up statement. He was too scared.

Violet got mad. After everything that had happened that night, she didn't think Tate needed Constance making things worse. But the girl was too smart to pick a fight over who Tate should go with. So instead, when Tate climbed into the back seat, she did too. Constance twisted in the driver's seat and glared evil at her.

"Get out," the blonde woman snarled at the teen intruder.

"No," Violet said stubbornly. She wasn't afraid. "I need a ride. You're going my way."

Ben got in then and Constance looked about ready to blow through the roof of the tan boat of a car. "What the hell is wrong with you people?! Get out of my car!"

Tate watched the three of them, completely baffled by the goings-on. He didn't understand what was happening. He couldn't focus past the imminent fear of his mother's wrath and the thought that he should have taken the alleys. Why hadn't he gone home by alleyway?

Ben and Violet exchanged glances. Then Ben looked to Constance with his mild therapist's smile. "I'm escorting my patient tonight. We'll get out together."

"Unless you want to eat your teeth for your Halloween treat," the woman growled. "You'd better get out now."

"Please just go!" Tate said, fear getting the better of him. "Just go!" He appreciated the Harmons' concern but he knew they were unintentionally making things worse. He had to be alone with his mother sometime. She would see to it, he knew.

They both looked at him. Constance looked smug.

"No, Tate," said Ben. "We said we'd be with you tonight."

Violet took Tate's hand, a move that pierced his heart. "Please," he said, another wave of tears blinding him. "Just go."

"No," she insisted, holding his hand with both of hers. "You don't have to take her shit. You don't have to do what she says."

Constance's expression tightened again. "He's my son. He'll do what I say if he knows what's good for him."

"You can't do shit to him," Violet puffed. A thin, mean smile touched her lips. "He's a ghost. If he wants, he can disappear and you'll never see him again. You can't touch him if he doesn't-"

Right then Constance surged forward and slapped the girl, hard. It was a shock to everyone but Constance. Violet put a hand to the reddening area, eyes round.

"Mother!" Tate cried but it was too late to put himself between the two.

"You listen to me, missy," Constance said, ignoring him. Her words were quiet, low and full of venom. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. You're starting a fight you do NOT want."

"Don't you touch my daughter!" Ben said, finally shaking off the shock.

Constance focused on him and sneered. "Get your daughter out of my car and I won't touch her."

Ben locked gazes with her. Hers was like a physical weight. It surprised him. He took Violet's elbow. "Come on, honey," he murmured. "Let's go."

"No! Dad!" exclaimed Violet. "No! I'm not letting her-"

"Come on," he insisted as he opened the car door. He tugged on her arm. "We need to talk. Now."

The girl frowned deeply, not wanting to back down. But she hadn't seen her dad like this before. She looked to Tate and he looked back, silently urging her to follow her dad. It hurt her to see the way he looked and it made her even madder. It was the second time that night she'd seen him in a position no person ever should be in.

"Find me at the house?" she said to him.

He gave a little nod and she let her dad tug her out of the car. It sped away the instant the door shut. The Harmons watched the car till it was out of sight.

Violet hugged herself, hating the fact that she'd let herself be pulled away so easily. "What, dad?" she said, lashing out at him. "What was so fucking important?"

Ben looked at her with a grim expression. "Constance is dead."

...

Constance didn't speak to her son the whole way home. The speed she drove at spoke for her: She was doing 60 miles per hour in an area zoned for 30. She slammed on the brakes outside her house so suddenly that it made the tires screech and threw Tate forward, into the back of the car's front bench seat. He righted himself and reached for the door handle but Constance was already out. She yanked the door open so hard it made the car shake.

He started to duck but her hand whipped out and caught him by the hair. She pulled. Hard. He yelped and followed the yank. He couldn't get one foot out soon enough so he ended up falling out. He landed on the sidewalk in front of her and scrambled up. She hit him as soon as he got to his feet, open-handed, right on the side of his head. His ear rang.

"Mama!" he said and put his arms up to shelter his face with.

She grabbed his arm, digging her nails in deep and purposeful. She slammed the car door then pulled him toward her house. "I told you not to go to that school!" she yelled. "You were supposed to come with us tonight! But you sent that bitch of a faggot instead?! You really do think I'm stupid, don't you!"

"No, mama," Tate whimpered, stumbling along behind her. His stiff Doc Marten's boots made him feel like he was trying to run in skis. "I don't! I just-"

"You just did what you always do," she cut him off. "Lied and did what you wanted to do!"

She pushed open the front door and shoved him through. She was so much stronger than he thought she was. He staggered and nearly fell. He was crying uncontrollably, close to hysterical in his panic. She advanced on him, hitting him again and again, where ever her hand could land.

"How could you!?" she screamed, working up to hurricane-force fury. "You blew it up, didn't you? You caused that explosion!"

Tate sobbed and cowered and tried to sink down to the floor but she grabbed hold of the lapels of his Union coat and kept him up. He wouldn't look at her face though. He just cried and covered his face with his arms to stop her hitting it.

"I'm sorry, mama!" he bleated. He wasn't sorry for blowing up the school. He was sorry for getting caught and sorry that it led to his getting slapped around.

"You are NOT!" she raged. "You enjoy making others miserable!"

She hit him some more but the blows to the sides of his head and shoulders were unsatisfying for her. He wasn't really feeling it because of the way he was shielding himself and she knew it. It made her even madder. She grabbed one of his arms and yanked it down and hit the exposed area of his face as hard and as many times as she could before he could twist away again. His lip was bleeding by then.

"Mama, I'm sorry!" he wailed, trying again to sink to the floor.

But she still had his arm and wouldn't let go. She hauled him back up despite the fact that his legs weren't supporting him. In her anger she wasn't thinking about physics. But Tate was too scared and unhinged to notice either. He'd been yanked around by her through much of his childhood and, in his terror, he reverted back to remembered behavior.

"Constance!" Father Jeremiah said loudly from the stairs.

He had said her name two times before but the screaming and crying was so loud, no one heard him. She heard the priest that time and looked to the staircase. Father Jeremiah stood near the top, hands gripping the banister. He had a disapproving look aimed at her.

"Don't even start with me, priest," she snarled. She was in no mood to take guff from any man: Not Ben, not her son and not Jeremiah.

"You're scaring Michael," said Father Jeremiah, putting slight emphasis on Michael's name.

Constance's lips tightened. She didn't want to listen to him but she couldn't un-hear his words. She squeezed Tate's arm tight enough to make him whimper just because she knew she couldn't hit him anymore. She looked at her boy then, stared knives into him.

"We're not through," she hissed. Then she used his arm to shove him toward the door. "Get out of here. You go to your room next door and you stay there till I come for you."

Tate scrambled for the door without a look back. She didn't bother checking to see where he went. She could feel him racing toward Murder House.

"Was that necessary?" said Father Jeremiah in open disapproval.

Constance drew herself up proudly and smoothed a hand over her hair. "Don't stick your pious nose where it doesn't belong, Father," she said, cold but smug. "You've been a great help but I don't need you here any longer. If you mess with me, you'll find yourself without a job."

Jeremiah frowned. "I don't work for you."

She arched a brow. "Oh, you don't?" She laughed and moved over to the stairs. "Who do you work for then?"

Father Jeremiah folded his hands before him loosely. "I serve Samael. And I will continue to do His bidding whether you want me here or not."

She began to ascend the stairs then, slowly. Like a predatory wildcat. "Samael. What's that? An angel? I thought you priests were supposed to serve God."

Jeremiah's expression tightened. "I serve Samael."

"Did Samael tell you I couldn't discipline my child?" She stopped two steps below him, meeting his stony gaze with a fiery one.

He shifted his weight. "No. But I'm not going to stand by and let you brutalize any soul."

"I made that soul!" she said, passionate tears in her eyes. "I'll tear it to pieces if I want!"

The priest frowned deeper. "He's your son."

"That's right," she said with a regal air. "My son. How I treat him is my business!"

Jeremiah looked uncomfortable. "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Oh, don't start quotin' the bible at me, you pretentious holy roller!"

"Ben Franklin said that," corrected Jeremiah.

She pursed her lips. Then she forced a smile. "There isn't a vat of honey big enough to catch that fly, Father. And if you think he doesn't deserve every moment of hell I give him, you'd better do your homework and find out who my son really is... And what he's done."

She brushed past him then and went to her room.

...

Author's Note:

So. Constance took that well. Not. I tend to view these scenes through Tate's eyes but, editing it, I couldn't help thinking what it must be like to have a kid who went on a killing spree, spend your life trying to figure out how to save his soul because of it, only to have him run off and blow up the same place where he murdered a bunch of people. Father Jeremiah doesn't really care about the circumstances though. He doesn't like to see young people terrorized by an out-of-control Constance.

'All the Way Home' is the last line of the nursery rhyme This Little Piggy.

Next chapter's the last one in this episode. In it, Tate returns to Murder House and the ghosts that are waiting for him. It can't be worse than Constance's reception. She's a tough act to follow.

Oh, and if you're following my Coven story, it'll have an update after the next episode that airs. I'm waiting to see what the writers do with the trio idea.

Happy T-day, folks in the USA. T being for 'turkey day' or 'Thanksgiving day'. Or even 'Tate Day'! Take your pick.