Conversations With Dead People

Present Day

He was in the crawlspace again, gazing down at the rotting corpse as if it might rise and wrap its stiff inflexible arms around his neck and pull him close. As if Violet Harmon wasn't as dead as all the rest of us. I slipped down into the pit in the floor and moved to stand beside him, kneeling down.

"What do you want?" Tate asked shortly. His temper had been flaring these last couple days as he'd been gearing up to "save" Violet. He had a crazy idea that should she think she'd killed herself in a lover's suicide, the pain of death would lessen. This had made him a little moody. I didn't take it to heart; I knew he was stressed, even if I hated the little whining bitch he was obsessed over.

"She'll find out eventually." I said. "Even if your plan works, she'll figure it out. How could she not?"

"By then it won't matter." He said, dark eyes scanning over his ward again and again as if something might change in her. "She'll know that we're together forever, she'll understand that I had to do it."

At this I sighed, reaching out to straighten the collar of his shirt, letting my fingers linger at the back of his neck to toy with the golden hair there. "I don't mean the body, Tate. I'm talking about what you did to Mommy. Do you really think she'll still love you when she finds out about that?"

He startled me when he spun to face me, swatting away my hand and taking a firm hold of my throat. I sucked in a breath of air I didn't need, more force of habit really, and gazed up at him. Up into those eyes, so brown they were black. I loved his eyes. I could stare at them for the rest of eternity. If I had my way, I would do just that.

"Don't you dare tell Violet." He said, pinning me up against the half wall that lined this little pit. I smiled my best and brightest, reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen into his eyes out of the way. He slapped away my fingers, but I didn't mind. We'd done this dance a thousand times, and I wasn't ready to give up yet.

"So you agree? You know she'll hate you?"

His grip tightened, not that he could actually kill me. I was already dead, but I could feel the discomfort of what it would have been like if I was still breathing.

"Don't. Tell. Vio-"

"I get it already." I snapped, shoving him back and brushing my fingers over my throat and the permanent bruises there. Usually I wore multiple necklaces to cover them up, but today had been a bit rushed and I hadn't been able to root through Princess Violet's things. Tate knew that I hated hands around my neck, it's why he did it.

"She can't find out." He repeated this for the hundredth time. We'd all heard it. His newest mantra. "You can't tell her, Cyn. You can't."

"I get it Romeo." I snapped, crossing my arms over myself and drawing my knees in close. Tate turned back to his lady love's corpse, chewing on his thumb a moment. We both know I wouldn't say anything. I might make threats, I might get angry, but I would never intentionally hurt him. Even if doing so would get Violet out of my way, I couldn't bring myself to hurt him.

I could never hurt Tate Langdon.

New Years Eve, 1999

"We could hold the party at The House." The way he emphasized it, we all knew which house he referred to. "Make this millennium one to remember."

I scoffed at this, turning back to my book while the other girls of his little group all whined and frowned chittering out a litany of reason why it was a terrible idea. Murder House was too scary, too old. Who would want to go in there to party? Didn't he know all the terrible things that had happened there? Unfortunately, my scoff earned his attention and Brett Meyers did not appreciate the input of the socially challenged.

"You say something Cynthia?" He added the emphasis to the beginning of my name, teasing me about my nickname for the thousandth time. As if I had been the one to decide it. Not that it was particularly bad, just unimaginative. Actually, I had come to appreciate it over the last year as something entirely too fitting. As if the student body had unconsciously chosen it as a reflection of what I was becoming. As if they had known what I was all along. Perhaps that's why I had never made any friends here, because the others could sense that there was something off about me, the way that one would instinctually know that a predator is a threat.

"Did you hear me speak?" I asked the testosterone-laden lacrosse jock. His big blue eyes narrowed and he pushed off the desk to leave his gaggle of fans and fellow players and saunter over to me.

"Thought I did." He shrugged, leaning up against my desk and pushing my books onto the floor as he did. I ignored this, focusing instead on the hand that stopped me from reaching for them and lingered too long on my skin. "Sounded like you think you're invited to the party."

I smiled, big and catty and pulled my hand from his, tucking a lock of dyed crayon red and black hair behind my ear. "Well as entertaining as it would be to watch you all cry and pee yourselves inside Murder House every time the wind shifts, I think I'll pass."

He laughed his stupid 'I'm superior to you' laugh and leaned down to get in my face. "Yeah, like you have something better to do."

"Someone actually." I said standing up and gathering my books. I was the only one to catch the flash of anger in Brett's eyes at this, before he turned to his friends and got them all laughing about what a little slut I was.

The truth was, we both knew he wanted me. In the way that many jocks want the unpopular nerds and goth girls. In front of their peers they tormented us and hurt us, but alone, when there was no one to see, they came on to us and hurt us when we refused. Brett Meyer was a pathetic, impotent bastard and he could say anything he wanted about me. I'd long since become numb to the barbs of high school mockery. I left them to talk about whose house they were really throwing the New Year's party at and glanced back once to see Brett's eyes on me, narrowed and angry.

Secretly, I hoped like hell that they didn't show up at Murder House, not that I thought any of them really had the nerve for it. The old building had become a getaway of sorts. Sure I'd heard the rumors, and I'd done my homework on every murder and murderer that had ever resided there, but I wasn't afraid of it. Let the spirits come. I meant neither the house, nor any of them any harm and we all knew it. As long as I was respectful, and kept to the ground floor, near the exits, there was no reason to fear the place.

At least that's what I told myself.

xXx

I had never believed in ghosts. Like most other people in Hollywood, I thought that the stories of spirits inside Murder House were the product of over-active imaginations and gossip warped from the truths of who had lived there and what had been done. I'd come here out of curiosity like most and had found myself feeling more at home when I'd walked inside then I had anywhere before.

Perhaps that should have been my first warning. As if the house had already decided to keep me.

I'd seen him first through one of the windows, gazing out at the street, his golden hair catching the sunlight and gleaming. I'd been coming to the house for weeks before that, sitting in the hallway and rolling the red ball that the child favored, or teasing the twins that had tried their best on many occasions to terrorize me and had yet to succeed. I like it here, and after my first initial scare, I'd realized that these beings weren't as terrifying as most thought. For the most part, I liked them.

I'd stood in the yard, frozen on my way inside by the sight of him, and could only stare. I knew him, but I couldn't place the handsome face or the dark gaze at the time. Instead I'd stared up at him and he'd turned an empty stare down on me. We'd both been frozen like that a long while, before finally, with a crooked little smirk, he'd stepped back away from the window and disappeared into the shadows. I hurried inside, calling out to him, eager to meet this new entity that I'd not known existed, but he'd seemed to have vanished.

This happened a few times during my visits. I'd turn a corner on a tour of the house to see his back disappearing around the next turn. By the time I made it, he would always be gone. Once I'd been washing the dirt from my hands in the bathroom and looked up into the mirror to find him standing behind me. When I'd spun to face him, he'd been gone. It became a game I think, for me to catch a glimpse of this elusive spirit and try my best to catch him though I never could.

Today had been the day I decided to focus all my efforts into finding him. I was determined now and even broke my own rule of staying out of the basement to search for him, though I hadn't stayed down there long. There were some things that unnerved even me. I searched for what felt like several hours, until I grew tired and sank down in one of the hallways. As normal, a shining red ball tumbled across the carpet from the shadows and I smiled grabbing it up and rolling it back.

"At least you seem to like me." I said softly and was answered by the returning ball. After a bit of this, I titled my head at the shadows and smiled softly. "Are you ever going to come out? I promise I won't hurt you."

As usual there was no reply, but the ball returned and I shrugged it off. "Whenever you're ready I guess. Maybe tomorrow I can bring you some new toys, would you like that?"

Suddenly the blinding beam of a Maglight glared down the hallway illuminating the walls. My little friend had vanished and the ball was left to bounce back toward me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I recognized the voice instantly and stood, spinning to face Brett Meyer with a scowl. "Are you really sitting here talking to yourself?"

I didn't answer him, trying instead to block the painful stream of light from my eyes, since he had yet to lower the flashlight. The jock laughed to himself and moved closer.

"You know Cyn, when I followed you over here I thought you were a bit of a freak, but now I know-"

"You followed me?" I asked, cutting him off and frowning.

Brett finally lowered the flashlight, smiling the smile that made lesser women swoon and ran his fingers back through his hair. "Well yeah, after today I thought you might finally be ready to admit the way you feel about me."

I resisted the urge to gag and crossed my arms, "So you had nothing better to do before the big party is what you're telling me?"

"Someone, actually." He grinned, thinking himself clever for turning my own words around on me. I didn't find him clever at all, instead I stared at him in silence hoping that I hadn't heard him correctly. Hoping that he wasn't implying that he'd stalked me from school to try and sleep with me.

When I didn't laugh or smile or acknowledge his "wit", Brett sighed, taking yet another step closer. My eyes moved passed him to the end of the hall where a blood-covered nurse moved slowly out of sight, her hollow eyes on Brett only a moment before she disappeared. The jock turned to look behind him with a scowl, moving closer to me again.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, but I shook it off.

"Nothing. I've…" I drew in a quick breath and tucked my hair behind my ear, "I've got to go." I quickly brushed passed him and back into the main hall, heading for the stairs that would take me to the front door and away from this asshole.

"What's the rush." He laughed, following close behind. "Isn't this where you do it? I mean that's what you were saying earlier."

"Do what?" I asked distracted, turning the next corner and attempting to speed up and get to the stairs before he could stop me. Brett was getting excited though, and reached out to snatch my arm and jerk me up against the wall. I tried to push him back, but he laughed and rested his forearm across my throat, pinning me in place.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, trying in vain to shove him off of me while he slipped the mag light into the loop of his belt.

"This is where you take them, isn't it? No one here to bug you, you can just lay back, let 'em slip in and you're done."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I grit out, wrapping my hands around his thick forearm and trying to wrench it off of my throat. Brett only laughed, shoving me against the wall and making me gag. He was slowly cutting off my air supply.

"Don't lie to me you fucking slut, you admitted it today in front of everybody." He titled his head and his free hand went down to my tight black jeans, skimming up between my legs. "I know how to spot a girl that loves dick. I think we both know you've wanted mine since freshman year."

A smart person might think that he was projecting his own desires on me in order to justify his feelings. This way he was just the guy who gave the unpopular Goth chick a little pity fuck. I had no intention of doing that however and with a cry I reached up and stuck my thumb in his eye.

Brett howled, falling back a step. I hadn't blinded him, but the nerves that surround the eye socket were sensitive enough that he was debilitated regardless. Not wanting to waste my chance, I ran down the hall, skidding to a half-stop at the top of the stairs. He caught up with me when I'd made it halfway down them, grabbing the back of my head by my hair and wrenching me backwards. I lost my footing and slammed down onto the steps, and while he cursed and kicked me I fought back the urge to cry.

Brett let me tumble down the last half of the stairs, following close behind and kicking me onto my stomach once we'd reached the landing. I could see the front door from here, but when I felt Brett lowering his weight on top of me, I knew I wasn't going to make it there. The jock was practically foaming at the mouth as he reached down and grabbed the sides of my pants, tugging at them until he got them down my hips. I screamed and tried to buck him off, shoving at the slick wooden floor in an attempt to free myself, but with a laugh he gathered up my arms and sat forward. I used his shifting weight against him, bucking up and throwing him off to the side, dragging myself down the rest of the stairs until I could get back to my feet. Unfortunately, my pants were still tangled around my thighs, slowing me down, and I made it to the front door just as he did. I'd managed to open it a crack, but Brett skidded up behind me, slamming it closed again and turning the lock as I sank down against the wood.

"Stop being so difficult." He grinned, turning me around and pushing me up against the door. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a zip-tie. "Give me your wrists."

"Go fuck yourself." I spat, realizing now that he'd planned this from the very beginning, the bastard. Maybe he'd been considering for years.

Brett smirked, "Not the person I had in mind." He grabbed one of my hands, fighting to gain control of the other one, but I wasn't going to go down easy. I struggled with him, until he planted a hand on my face and slammed my head back against the wooden door, making my vision spin for a few moments. By the time I could see straight again, he'd zipped my wrists tightly together and hooked his forefinger between them with a smile.

"Come on." He urged before tugging me toward the basement door at the back of the stairwell. I could hear the whispers of voices all around us, some weeping for me, some that told me to fight, others that cackled and urged him on. I'm not sure he heard them, or maybe they had been the reason this was happening in the first place. Maybe they had given him the final push.

It was dark in the basement and smelled of dust and something rotten I didn't want to think about. Brett dragged me down the stairs by the zip-tie and finally my hair when I put up a fight. He didn't even take me further in, simply shoved me up against the wall and kissed me like a drunk. I growled defiantly beneath him and bit down on the tongue he tried to sneak passed my lips, earning myself a swift knock against the temple that made my head swim again. As I looked back up and geared to tell him off however, Brett reached into his front pocket and pulled out a knife.

I went still then, eyes on the blade that snapped out with little provocation. It wasn't anything special, the kind you might see clipped to the belt of a mechanic. Black steel with a silver edge where the blade was sharpened and he held it up under my chin until I was silent. Normally I loved knives. I had since I was a child. There was something beautiful and clean about them, but now with the blade pressing into my skin hard enough to nick me, I wasn't quite as thrilled.

"You're going to stop being such a bitch now." He said, using his other hand to tug my jeans, which had ridden back up a bit in the struggle, down my legs. When he got them to my knees, he paused and lifted my chin with the blade, "Kick them off."

I did as he instructed, letting him unzip my boots for me, eyes narrowed and full of hate. I don't know why I wasn't crying, I didn't even have that heavy pressure in my chest anymore. It had been replaced by a buzzing in my brain, a constant, incessant sound that coincided with the rage that was bubbling up inside me. My mind was a kaleidoscope of violent images, and urges. I wanted to take his blade and stab it right down through his smaller member. I wanted to reach down his throat and tear out his lungs. A million different things passed through me, but outside I was silent and still.

The next to go was my shirt, sliced through at the neckline and ripped away. Brett took a moment to fondle me, shoving up my bra and enjoying himself and his new little toy. My attention was on the things moving in the shadows. There was an energy here, building with Brett's excitement and my rage. I could almost taste the perverse glee in the air and the things that watched us continued to whisper. Brett had moved down to draw my nipple into his mouth and as I sucked in a breath of fury through my teeth, my gaze settled on the one person that had stepped from the shadows. I recognized him instantly, blond hair, black-brown eyes. He titled his head and watched us a moment before holding up the mag light that Brett had lost in the struggle and waving it back and forth.

"Wait!" I finally managed to say, "I'll do it, I'll do it, you just have to stop a second."

Brett pulled back a moment with a look of confusion, still holding the knife against my throat. "Do what?"

I forced my most sultry smile, "Haven't you always wanted me on my knees?"

He grinned like an idiot looking me over again while behind him the boy had crouched down and set the mag light on the floor, giving it a quick push that sent it rolling across the floor toward us. He was too distracted to notice, too distracted as I knelt down on the floor, catching the mag light just behind him. The boy stood slowly, pulling what looked like a thick metal wire from his back pocket, a garrote of sorts. As he stood he held a finger to his lips, indicating that I not give him away.

Brett got impatient with me just sitting there, grabbing my hair in his fist and jerking back my head. "Well?" he demanded with that horrible bastard smile.

I offered him another smile, glancing at the blade he still gripped tightly in his right hand. I reached up to unfasten his belt, glancing over at the boy, but he had disappeared and with him went my fragile calm. I still kept the mag light in my left fist as I unzipped him, and just as I thought I might have to do more than I had planned, something deep in the basement clattered against the floor.

Brett scowled turning to look behind him and releasing my hair. "What the fuck?" he was just turning around, when I stood and swung the mag light with all I had catching him right in the side of the head. He slumped a moment, landing against me and I felt a sharp flash of pain in my side before it flooded with warmth. I sucked down a breath against sudden nausea and hit him again, kicking him back onto the floor.

The knife was no longer in his hand I realized in horror, looking down to find the handle jutting out of my abdomen on the left side. I could only stare at it, sliding down the wall with a choked sound of greif and fear. It hurt worse to pull it out, and I had to work it back and forth to do so, but I managed to get the blade out of me and dropped it down beside me, clutching the wound. Blood poured out between my fingers, more than I had imagined there could be, it simply kept coming and the pain began to build. It throbbed outward across my torso in hot sharp waves that made me sick. It was getting harder to breath and when I coughed, blood bubbled up out of my throat with the air. I knew enough to realize this meant I was hemorrhaging and that this was not good.

Brett groaned from the floor, pushing himself up and clutching his head. "Fucking…bitch." He groaned, but I couldn't move, couldn't even cry. I was numb and cold and the world was spinning.

I can't be dying. I told myself, it was only one stab. You're tougher than that.

"I'm gunna kill you you stupid cunt." Brett said, quickly regaining his focus and sitting up to come at me. I only stared at him, and just as his fingers were about to tangle in my hair I watched as the boy from before appeared behind him with his wire and wrapped it around his throat, dragging him back across the basement floor. My vision swam after that, going dark a moment and I felt myself hit the concrete, though the pain was too dull to really matter.

When I managed to focus again, I was pushing myself up, using the wall to stand though my legs were shaking and weak. The boy was there, he offered his hand and lifted me up onto my feet, steadying me and titling his head.

"You're ok now." He said, eyes wondering down my exposed chest a moment and returning to my face with a slight frown. He reached out, hooking his finger in my bra and tugging it back down to cover my breasts.

"Where's Brett?" I asked, my voice was stronger than I had thought it would be, and the rage was back. He turned, motioning to the far corner, where the would-be murderer and rapist was lying still. "Is he dead?"

He shrugged. "Might be."

I moved passed him without another word, bending to scoop up the mag light on my way. When I reached Brett I could see his chest rising just slightly. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't in good shape either judging by the redish-purple bruise around his throat. I grabbed his leg attempting to drag him away from the wall but didn't get very far before the boy had slipped up beside me and taken his other leg. We pulled him to the center of the room and I dropped on onto my knees, straddling his waist. Without so much as a cry of pain of fury I lifted the mag light and brought it down on his head. I did it again and again watching as his skull cracked then caved and the red grey goop of brain matter and chunks of yellowed bone splattered across me and the floor. All the while the boy just stood there, he never tried to stop me and he watched in silence, his expression empty and unreadable.

I don't know how long I beat on Bret, but eventually my arms got tired and the mag light began to spark off the concrete as there was nothing substantial left to stop it. Brett was unrecognizable, a mass of blood and brains and I was panting above him, my chest heaving and still I didn't cry or scream. I didn't even look away from him until I felt the boy move to sit beside me, his arms slipping around me to retrieve the mag light. I turned around to watch him as he inspected it, then leaned forward staring at Bret's corpse as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. I had to admit the sight was something else, something I would remember for the rest of my life with a dark pleasure I had never been able to describe to anyone, but he understood. I could see it in his dark, dark eyes.

"I know you." I said slowly looking over his handsome face a moment. He smiled, not bothering to move away from me yet, not that I minded. "You're Tate Langdon. But you can't…you died."

He frowned a moment titling his head as if that were the most ridiculous thing I could have said before he nodded. "What's your name?"

"Cynthia." I murmured, then a smile spread across my lips and I reached out to brush the golden hair from his eyes. "You saved my life."

He pulled away then, standing up and taking my hand to drag me with him.

"No I didn't."

I furrowed my brow, smiling in confusion, but before I could speak, he placed a finger over my lips and took my hand. Tate took a short breath and turned to the other side of the basement, nodded toward the wall. I turned to the place he indicated, but what I saw there didn't make any sense.

It was me. I was lying there, blood pooling around the open gash in my stomach, eyes open but empty. Lifeless. I was lifeless.

"I don't…what is that?"

"You're dead." He said simply watching me as I gazed at my own body.

I laughed at that, slightly hysterical and looked back at him. "I can't be dead I'm…I'm right here." My hand went to my gut and my finger slipped down passed the skin into warm muscle, but it didn't hurt.

"You'll always be here." Tate replied slowly, reaching out to touch my face. He seemed to want to comfort me, but didn't quite know how. My vision grew hazy a moment and I blinked away tears I hadn't felt building.

"No." I said, my voice breaking and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the body. My body. My corpse. "No, I can't be…this isn't…why?"

"You shouldn't have pulled it out." He said simply, brushing his fingers across the knife wound in my gut, "He cut you pretty deep, though, it was pretty much over, but you pulled it out and bleed out too quickly."

"I just closed my eyes." I murmured and my knees began to wobble before they gave out and I crumpled down. Tate caught me, slowly lowering us to the floor where he could hold me against his chest and shush me softly.

"It's ok now. Everything's ok."

"I'm dead." I snapped before a sob bubbled out and I buried my face in his chest clutching his shirt as if it might make this all go away.

"Now no one can hurt you again." He said, brushing the damp hair from my face and smiling a tiny crooked smile. "No one will ever dare and you can whatever you want. No one can stop you."

I recalled the ghosts I had played with, the whispers I had heard. Always in this house or on the grounds, never outside of it.

"I'm trapped here aren't I?" I asked softly, smoothing down the material of his shirt and blinking away the last of my tears. I'd never been much of a crier, and when I did it never lasted long. It seemed odd, but I was odd. Now I was dead.

"You are." He nodded, starring off at nothing a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

I pulled back enough to look at him, keeping his shirt in my tight grip. "But you'll be here won't you? I won't be alone?"

Tate smiled. "You'll never be alone again."

Upstairs there was the sound of banging. Someone was calling out Brett's name from the front door and we both turned our attention to the basement ceiling.

"He must have told Michael he was coming." I said flatly.

Tate frowned, glancing at the corpse then me. "Do you think he knows what he was doing here? The rape I mean?"

I nodded, clenching my teeth and holding him tighter. "It's his best friend, they share everything."

When I looked back at Tate he was smiling. He rolled the mag light over to us and fingered the brainmatter still dripping from its end. "Everything huh?"

A slow smile spread across my face and I followed him to my feet. Tate glance back up at the sounds before looking me over. He shrugged off his dark grey sweater and helped me slip into it, buttoning up the front for me with a short glance up into my eyes. A shiver passed up my spine when his slender fingers brushed the flesh between my breasts on the way up and I licked my lips in anticipation. When he'd finished he laced his fingers with mine and we moved toward the stairs. I grabbed the bloody knife on the way and we quickly moved up into the main room.

"I'll show you. Life doesn't have to stop being fun when you're dead." He smiled and I joined him. "Besides. He has to pay."

I nodded my agreement, starring at the shadow of Michael through the stained glass of the front door. "What if he does this to other girls? We have to stop him."

Tate nodded in agreement and slipped his hand from mine, moving back beside the door where he would be out of sight and I moved my hand behind me to hide the blade before I opened the door.

"Cynthia?" Michael said in surprise, looking around nervously as if someone might see us. Oh yes. He knew exactly what was happening here. "Where's Brett?"

I offered him a smile that might have been a little too eager, but he was too dumb to notice, "We just finished." I said, indicating the obviously male sweater I was wearing and leaning up against the door frame. "He's downstairs now. Are you going to join us too?"

His smile became lecherous and he chuckled. "Lead the way." He said and stepped inside.

He'd made it a few steps in when Tate slammed the door behind him and I pulled out the blade.

He had to pay.

Present Day

Tate had left me alone after a while, eager to get back to his lady love and play at boyfriend while he still could. While she still cared about him. My eyes remained on Violet's body, rotting and stiff, just as mine had become after the three weeks it had spent in the basement. I used to sit and stare at it for hours when Tate was off with Bo or playing with Addie. I had even run into Brett a couple times before he knew to stay away from me. I couldn't kill him again, but I could cause him pain and we both knew that I enjoyed it. Michael was a sulker who remained hidden in the basement as much as he could, unable to show the rest of us what had become of the pretty face he had once cherished. What Tate and I had done to him as he kicked and screamed and begged.

He had promised he'd never leave me alone, but then Violet had come. Violet had ruined everything and now she would never leave. Now I was trapped with her for all of eternity, doomed to watch her with the man I could never really have.

"You can't beat yourself up about it." Hayden appeared at the mouth of the pit, crossing her legs at the knee and titling her head to regard the insect-covered carcass. "The kid has shitty taste in girls."

I didn't respond, instead reaching out to swat away a fly that had slipped out of Violets ear. Hayden sighed heavily and hopped down into the pit to stand beside me, nudging the corpse with her toe. Had Tate been here now, I'm sure he would have gone into a rage, but in my current depression I couldn't bring myself to yell at her in his behalf.

"I mean really, he wouldn't even fool around with me, and I could have rocked his world."

I rolled my eyes at this. "That's because he doesn't go for crazy bitches. You only wanted him because he has someone else, and you have some sort of pathological need to be loved by men that are already taken. It's pathetic."

She laughed, crouching down beside me. "Crazy bitches huh? Guess that leaves you out too."

I sighed, running my fingers through my two-toned hair and starring into the face of the woman who had stolen my love away. "I can't even take satisfaction in her being dead, because now the bitch is going to be here forever."

"Life isn't fair." Hayden agreed, reaching out to wipe away my stray tears. The few that had slipped out in my current emotional storm. "I still don't understand why you don't just tell her everything. It would save you a lot of waiting for her to find out herself."

I shook my head, finally looking over to the other ghost. "He'd hate me forever."

She nodded in understanding. "And here, forever is a very long time."

We lapsed into silence then, both gazing down at the body. After a long moment I titled my head. "Do you think she's prettier than me?"

Hayden grinned, "Would it matter if she was? He wants her regardless."

"Because she's so fucking innocent. Poor little lost Violet. Mommy and Daddy don't love her enough so here comes Prince Tate to the rescue. He thinks she'll make him clean again." I closed my eyes, "I just want him because he's as dirty as me."

"I think he's a bit out of your league, hon." When I shot her a glare, she held up her hands in defense, "as far as the dirty thing goes. I mean, he went all Columbine on the senior class; you bludgeoned a guy who wanted to rape you anyway. As far as crazy goes, I think he got the bigger helping."

"Yes Hayden, thank you for that oversimplification." I groaned and shook my head, standing up and turning away from the offensive corpse. "It's not want we've done. Everyone here has a darkness about them now. It's how we feel. It's the pain in his eyes and the darkness. I understand it. I feel it too, and I want to be with him because of it."

Hayden nodded, looking as if she were holding back some tacky comment. After a moment, the temptation to speak was too great and she laughed. "So what, the two of you are meant for each other because you're both psychotic? Join the club, honey. We live in a house of crazy, and you're boy-toy doesn't want to be reminded that he's broken. He doesn't want your sympathy or your pity, and he sure as hell doesn't want you reminiscing past nasties. He wants the little Harmon bitch because she makes him forget what he is. She makes him feel like a better person."

"Well he isn't." I grit out, fists clenched. "And the second that little whore sees the real him she'll run away." I closed my eyes, squeezing out more tears. "and it will break his heart."

Hayden grabbed me, pulling me into a rare and uncomfortable hug. "Well let him figure that out for himself. It's the only way it'll happen. Just like every man on this planet, you can tell him the truth of things until you're hoarse but he won't believe a word of it until he sees for himself, and even then he probably won't acknowledge that you were right." I sniffed back more tears and nodded into her shoulder.

"Buck up, baby goth. You've got until the end of time to prove to him that Violet's wrong for him."

"But-"

Hayden pulled back, holding me at arm's length to stare me straight in the eyes, "Never accept defeat, Cynthia. If you want him, then you take him. Violet's going to find out soon and when she does you're going to make your move. He'll need comforting. Men are babies." She smiled when the corner of my mouth twitched up a moment, "Don't worry. I'll help you. Soon I'll have my baby and you'll have your man, and everything will be right again. You'll see."

I nodded, imagining what it would be like to finally have him all to myself. To touch him and not have him recoil when I lingered too long. Hayden was right. Everything was going to be ok again soon, and until then I had to make the best of things.

I'd start with making that little bitches' life a living hell.