Gloppy flour paste dripped from the strip of newsprint Violet lifted from the bowl. She plastered it down over the last layer even though it was still wet. The mask she was making wasn't for a grade or to impress anyone.
"What face are you going to paint on yours?" Tate asked.
He dipped a strip of the cut-up newsprint in the messy bowl of greyish goop and put it lengthwise across the mask he was working on.
It was a bit surreal for Violet, sitting there with him. Not just because Dr. Thredson had medicated her either, though that certainly accounted for the light-headed euphoria. He had insisted she take the pills in front of him in order to qualify for work release and to work directly with Tate. The doctor had checked her mouth after, digging around with his finger under her tongue and prodding her cheeks until he was satisfied.
In spite of her father's cautions, she had agreed to work release. She simply couldn't think of another way to get in close to Tate. It had been her intention to scout the location so she could come up with a plan for escape. In the moment, though, under sedation, she was content to sit and make papier-mâché masks with him. Some small part of her mind screamed at her that she was wasting time and an opportunity, but it was easy to ignore. She was just glad to see Tate was unharmed. Sure, he was chained to his bed in the room off Thredson's office, but he was healthier than she had seen him in months.
"I'm not sure what it should look like," said Violet after a long pause. "Maybe...maybe one of those laughing theater faces. You know? The tragedy and comedy faces."
"Yeah," Tate smiled. "I always liked those things. Even though they're pretty ugly."
Violet gave a short, soft laugh. "Pretty ugly. That's a...a..."
"Oxymoron?" supplied Tate.
She laughed again. "Yeah. That."
"You're not pretty ugly," he said, watching as she slathered another piece of newsprint. "You're just pretty."
She smiled but kept her eyes on what she was doing. She moved the drippy strip over and pasted it to the vaguely face-shaped mass before her.
"I'm glad Doctor Thredson let you come visit," Tate said then. He reached for another piece of paper.
Violet rubbed her fingers together to scrub the drying goo off. It hadn't occurred to her that Thredson might not have told Tate that she was supposed to be his attendant. She didn't want to be the one to tell him.
"Has he said when you might get out of here?" she asked, to keep an awkward silence at bay.
Now it was Tate's turn to go quiet. After a moment, he said: "He's letting me stay here."
Violet couldn't help but glance at the chain attached to the ankle cuffs he wore that kept him fettered to the bed.
"Why?" she asked.
Tate made a face and smoothed down the last strip of paper he applied to his mask. He was working on a bulbous nose. "I'm making the Tragedy mask."
His answer didn't sit well with Violet but the drugs she was on kept her from true worry. Still. "Why is Doctor Thredson keeping you here?"
Tate shrugged a shoulder but didn't look at her. "It's crowded in the wards. It's safer for me here."
His mannerisms didn't convince her that was the real reason, but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to grill him properly. She could tell he was retreating from her, withdrawing into himself. She didn't want their reunion to be spoiled.
"Well, I'm just glad I get to see you again," she said, trying to sound light.
It worked. He relaxed a little. Flashed a quick smile at her. "Me too. I missed you. A lot."
"Same," she said. She looked critically at her mask in progress. "I think I'm done with the pasting part. I'm going to let mine dry."
"My guy still needs a bigger nose," said Tate. "I want him to look like Cyrano."
—
That evening when Violet left Thredson's office, she expected him to dismiss her into the care of an orderly who would take her back to her room. Instead, the doctor escorted her downstairs to the main reception hall where Dandy was waiting, all smiles.
"Ah, at last," he said. "I was beginning to think I'd have to come find you."
"What?" Violet asked, looking between him and the doctor. "Why?"
"Haven't you told her?" Dandy asked Dr. Thredson.
The man spread his hands. "I thought you might like to."
Dandy beamed. "Indeed!" Then, to Violet: "You're coming home with me."
"With you?" Violet was still feeling the effects of the medication she'd taken earlier, so she wasn't sure how much of this was supposed to make sense. "Why?"
"You're on work release," he explained. "I thought it would be fun to treat you to a fine dinner at my estate to celebrate your first day of freedom."
The day had hardly felt like being free, but one look at Thredson convinced Violet to keep her opinion to herself. He had a look that said he'd be more than happy to send her back to the ward if she caused trouble.
"Oh," she said, trying to improvise. She forced a smile. "Sounds good. I am pretty hungry."
"I'm absolutely famished," said Dandy. He collected her hand and drew her whole arm close to him. "My car is just outside. Let's get out of this place. Oliver? I'll have her back in the morning, six A.M. sharp."
Before Violet could fully understand what he had just said, Dandy was escorting her to the double doors that led out of the asylum.
—
It was already dark outside and cold. Dressed only in the thin blue dress and shoes she'd been issued, Violet shivered in the sudden stab of frigid air. Instinctively she drew closer to Dandy, the only source of warmth she had. He shifted to put a sheltering arm around her shoulders.
"So sorry, my dear," he said. "I should have brought you a coat. But the car's just here."
He hurried her over to a dark sedan, opened the rear door and helped her in. The engine was already running and the heater had made the car nice and warm. It smelled faintly of tobacco smoke inside. A man sat in the driver's seat, a silhouette against the night-darkened windshield. Seconds later, Dandy slid into the back seat on the other side of the car, bringing with him a burst of cold air.
"Comfy?" he asked Violet as he shut the car door. He didn't wait for an answer but said to the driver: "Take us home."
Soon they were on the road, coasting through the night with the faint sound of Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" playing on the radio. Dandy took Violet's nearest hand between both of his and rubbed gently.
"Your hands are like ice," he said sympathetically. "When we get to the house we'll have to get you warmed up. I'll put on a fire. I'm sure Mother has a robe you can wear. She won't mind."
"This is the first time I've been out since..." Violet hesitated, then smiled. "Since the night of the storm. When you ran away."
"But I came back," Dandy pointed out. "For you."
The statement made Violet feel strange. Her body was still somewhat swaddled in the lingering numbness of the sedative Dr. Thredson had given her and she wasn't thinking quickly or clearly. It was nice to be told she was so important to him—or anyone, for that matter—but she also found it uncomfortable as she didn't entirely believe him. She wasn't sure why, either. Was it because she didn't feel quite so strongly about him? Or was it something else? All she knew for certain was that the silence on her end that followed made her feel even more ill at ease.
"I'm glad you came back," she said, mostly to fill that conversational gap while she struggled for something better to say. She didn't like leading him on but nothing else came to mind.
Dandy believed what she said. It's what he wanted to hear. He gave her hand a squeeze. "When we get to the house we'll get you warmed up and have some dinner. You can have a bath after. A real bath. None of that crap the asylum has. No, ma'am. We have bubble bath and the softest towels."
The idea of a bath in a normal bathroom was surprisingly appealing. Violet smiled and for the first time in a long time, it was a genuine smile.
Author's Note:
Another unedited chapter. Sorry about that. I just wanted to get this installment out before the end of the year, as a bit of a Christmas present. Christmas past? Anyway. I'm slowly but surely winding up this and the other American Horror Story fanfic I've been writing these past years.
Things have been slow because my film is finished and we've been sending it around to various film festivals in the United States and Canada(!). Yep, that's right: I'm international! While all this has been going on, I have been writing and finishing two nonfiction books which are going to be published next year. I've been so busy, I had to turn down two different acting roles. I've got a major film shoot coming up in February, I was in a parade last week...I could keep going but you get the idea. Things are really hopping here, more than ever before. But I am dedicated to seeing these stories through to their end. Thanks for sticking with me. Your faith will be rewarded.
As a side note, "Mask of Sanity" is a book written in 1941 by Hervey Cleckley about the psychopathic mind. Next time: Violet goes to Dandy's house and Ben goes to the authorities.