…

Tate found Violet in the dining room. She had Chad's scrapbooking stuff spread on the dark wood table and was looking at some photos she'd laid out in front of her.

"Hey," he said from the doorway.

She looked up and smiled at him. "Hey."

He came all the way into the room and over to her side and looked at the photos that were on the table. "What're you doing?"

Then he saw her scrapbook. He had to resist the urge to grab it off the table. It was hers; not his. And the reason it was important to him was because it was hers. But he still felt the impulse to protect it; to hide it with his favorite treasures.

"Well," she said, looking back down at the spread before her. Her straight hair fell in a way that curtained her face from his view. "I found my scrapbook in your room-"

"Sorry," he said, feeling obligated to apologize even though he didn't regret taking it one bit. It was the only thing that had kept him feeling close to her for a long time.

"It's cool," she said without hesitation. "But I figured… maybe you should have your own."

He frowned, confused. "My own scrapbook? God. Chad would love that."

She chuckled. "I'm sure. But here. See?" She pushed some of the photos toward him.

He looked and saw something that surprised him. It was a picture of him and Violet. Together. "But. How..?"

Violet looked up at him then and her smile was warm and sweet. "Photoshop. Your mom let me borrow some of her pictures of you and I ran them through Mr. Ambrose's scanner. I edited them together with some of me and printed them. Look. Here we are at Disneyland. And… this is the beach. Oh. Here's one of us with your mom and sister. I think that one came out really well."

"It's like magic," Tate breathed. He touched the photos gingerly, like they might evaporate if he messed with them too much.

"If you get some of Chad and Patrick, I can make you some pictures with them too," she said. "Technically I could put us with anyone because we have the internet. Any celebrity you want."

He smiled, liking that idea. But the expression faded quickly as he recalled why he'd sought her out in the first place. "I… I talked to your mom."

She got serious as well. "How'd it go?" she said, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt when thinking about the meeting.

Tate settled into the chair to her right and ran a hand through his blond hair, making it stick up. "Not as bad as I thought, I guess. She was… she was upset. But… she talked to me. She- I think she wants to talk to me again later. When she… when she knows what she wants to say. I think she was kind of, um, you know. She was surprised. Mad. But I guess she was mostly just, like. Overwhelmed."

Violet thought about what he said and nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. I would be too, I guess. I mean, I was. I guess I kind of still am. But I know it wasn't really you," she added when she saw his expression fall. "I'm mad at… it."

He sighed and sagged in the chair. He clasped his hands in his lap and toyed with his snake ring, twisting it around with his other thumb as best as he could with his fingers laced together. "Do you… Do you think it's gone? Rubber Man?"

The question brought a grim look to Violet's face. "I don't know. I wish. But… probably not. Maybe my dad was in it last but you said it could move on its own. I think maybe it's… maybe it's something we don't really understand."

"Do you think it's what Father Jeremiah said?"

She shook her head slowly. "I really don't know. But I don't think it's an angel. Or demon. Whatever you want to call it. I don't think words really apply. You know? This… all of this. It's bigger than things people can think up. Or understand. I don't think it was ever alive, not like we were. Trying to put names on it is like trying to define what's outside of the universe."

Tate's lips curled up on one side, dimpling his cheek. "You sound like Chad."

"Do I?" Violet smiled now. "Well. Chad can be bitchy but he's pretty smart."

"Yeah," said Tate thoughtfully, as though it hadn't occurred to him before that moment. "Yeah. I guess he is."

He looked back at the photos again. "Yeah," he said then, answering his own feelings out loud. "I'll see if maybe he and Pat have some photos they'll let us borrow. Maybe you can put all of us in Australia or something. I always wanted to go to Australia."

She smiled and reached over to put her hand over his folded ones. "Cool."

Then she leaned over and they kissed.

…

Tate was lying on his bed upstairs looking through the scrapbook he and Violet had been working on the past couple of days. He thought it was shaping up to be a pretty nice album. He hadn't been very interested in the craft when Chad had forced him to participate but he decided it wasn't such a bad pastime after all, especially when he was doing it with Violet.

He sensed the presence of another spirit in his room and glanced over toward the door. Ben stood there in the doorway. It was a visit Tate had half-expected and half-dreaded. He had no idea what, if anything, the man remembered about the night Rubber Man took the kids to the basement.

"Hey," Ben said. He looked piqued and puffy-eyed, like he'd been sick… or crying a lot.

"Hey, Doctor Harmon," Tate said, sitting up. He was sort of glad he was in his older aspect. The thought of being around Ben while Tate was child-sized wasn't very appealing at the moment. "What're you doing here?"

"I just…" Ben shrugged. "I guess I just wanted to see if we… If you and me… If you still wanted to talk sometime?"

Tate tipped his head curiously. What the man said reminded him an awful lot of the conversation they'd had back when Violet had told Tate to go away. The teen remembered how alone he'd felt back then; how desperate for reassurance. And despite his obvious misgivings, Ben had agreed to keep talking to him. Eventually those chats had led Tate to making amends with the men he now considered his guardians. Strange, how things had come full circle.

"Yeah," Tate said after a long pause. "Sure. I mean… You didn't shut me out when I fucked up. Even though you had every right to."

Ben looked both relieved and grateful. "You know I wasn't- That wasn't really me. Downstairs. You know that, right?"

Tate raked his teeth over his upper lip, tearing off a bit of non-existent skin to chew on. "Hey, doc. You don't have to explain anything to me. I know what it's like, being in the suit. It's power at first, you know? But it's… it's not." He shook his head. "It only makes you feel powerful while it's taking everything away from you. It's kinda like drugs."

Ben ran a hand through his black hair and gave a little nod, eyes on the floor. "It won't happen again," he said emphatically but his voice trembled a bit.

"Doctor Harmon?"

The man looked over at him. There were tears in his eyes. "Yeah?"

"A long time ago you said… you said I reminded you of you. And you said if there was hope for you, there was hope for anyone."

Ben nodded slowly. He remembered that conversation though he wasn't sure what Tate's angle was in bringing it up now.

"Well," Tate said, getting to his feet. "I think you were right. I think…" He paused then he smiled, both dimples showing. "I know you helped me. Maybe… I can help you."

The proposition made the psychiatrist blink in surprise. "How?"

Tate shrugged then patted his shoulder. "We'll figure it out together. Just like always. Right?"

Ben actually smiled then. It was a thin smile but it was a real one. "Thanks, Tate."

"Don't mention it," the teen said lightly. Then he got serious, putting on his earnest face. "I ran into that cheerleader chick downstairs. Chloe? She's looking for you. I guess she got stuck here after… after I blew up the school."

Ben winced. "Shit. Okay. Thanks. Um. I should probably go find her. She's probably pretty confused."

"Yeah," Tate agreed. "She was also pretty pissed off when I talked to her. But that's probably just because it's me she was talking to. She might be nicer to you."

"We'll see," said Ben without faith. At the moment he wasn't sure of anything, really. He hesitated then said, "Would it be okay if I hug you?"

Tate gave the odd request a little thought. "Sure, I guess," he said. Then he smiled big. "Just don't stick a knife in my back or anything." He saw the pained look Ben got then and he quickly added: "Joking! I was just joking."

He let the man hug him then and even hugged back. While they were embracing, he said very quietly: "Don't give up, Doctor Harmon. If there's hope for somebody like me… there really is hope for anybody."

When they let go, both of their eyes were moist. Then Ben left and Tate went back to his bed and the scrapbook. He looked at the album and at the retouched picture of him and Violet at the zoo. They were standing in front of a large cage of brightly colored parrots. He smiled to himself. For the first time in a very, very long time he dared to believe that everything would be okay.

…

2019 - New Year's Eve

Father Jeremiah leaned on the porch rail that flanked Constance's house, his arms folded and his expression placid. From that quiet vantage point he could hear the party next door. Practically every light was on in the house, even in the attic, and it sounded like a real swinging bash. Of course Chad had extended invitations to him, Constance and Michael but they all agreed that it was probably for the best that they didn't come over. Since the earthquake, things had gone back to what was deemed 'normal' at Murder House but no one wanted to risk anything on the cusp of a new decade.

"It's almost midnight. We should be… ringin' in 2020. What're you doin' out here?" Constance asked from the front doorway.

Jeremiah glanced back and offered her a smile. She had two full champagne flutes in her hands. He returned to gazing about the neighborhood. "Just watching the world change."

She came over and leaned against his back, offering one of the glasses over his shoulder. He took it though he didn't really want it. The blonde woman stayed pressed to his back, her arm draped over his shoulder now that her hand was free of the glass.

"What do you see?" she asked quietly, near his ear.

He turned his head just a bit and was just inches from brushing his lips against hers. "I see… Your freedom."

Jeremiah looked to his champagne glass then, helping himself to a sizeable drink. He sighed the after-flavor.

Constance chuckled and peeled herself off the man. She came to stand beside him. "About time."

"Anything worthwhile is worth waiting for," he said, lifting his glass to her.

She smirked at him. "We'll see." Then she looked out at the dark street as well, wishing she could see what he saw. "Come tomorrow, we'll know for sure."

"Mm-hmm," agreed Jeremiah.

But he already knew. He could see his Lord's influence spreading out over the neighborhood; he had been watching the misty, shimmering fog stretch further and further out ever since the sun had gone down. By the time the sun rose the next morning, the whole city would be engulfed. The area would once again be open to the people who'd been trapped in Murder House. But such freedom would come at the price of every other spirit out there having that same freedom. A strange future lay ahead, for certain.

Next door they could hear the voices unify from a general chatter to a chant, counting down the seconds until the new year arrived.

"It's dropping!" Michael squealed from the sitting room. "Hurry up or you'll miss it!"

Constance headed for the door, pausing on her way in to look back at Jeremiah. "Are you comin'?"

Jeremiah took one last look around the neighborhood. He wouldn't be able to miss this New Year's arrival, even without a Times Square ball or even the countdown next door. But he smiled and went to join his little family inside. They might be moving into a dark zone where LA became a ghost town but there was no need to disappoint Michael the first time he got to stay up late enough to see in the new year.

It was the end of 2019. 2020 would be a year to remember.

xxx

Author's Note:

The End. Cue Nine Inch Nails 'Dead Souls'. Or 'Tonight You Belong To Me' by Patience and Prudence. What the hell, you could play both, back to back. It's the end so you feel free to do what you want.

Hard to believe it's over. I am still planning to do one-shots in the future but I'm also working on an original story that I eventually hope to get published. More on that later, as it develops. I may eventually write another season for Murder House, but that will largely depend on how over-active my imagination gets.

I've been told some readers that they've lost track of what was canon and wasn't, after reading this. I take that as a compliment. It feels like the bastard child of Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk to me. I've always felt like I'm channeling this tale, not orchestrating it. So I give them all the credit (and maybe some of the blame?) for this beautiful monster. Over 200,000 words. That's novel-length.

So for sticking with me and the folks from Murder House for this long... thanks. I hope it's entertained you and maybe answered a few nagging questions. More than it's left you with, anyway.