The *** House

Once Jason had gotten himself under control, he left the house. I closed the door gently, but it no longer clicked into place. I hoped that someone would come to fix it soon. I wasn't totally pleased with the idea of having stray animals roaming through the house alongside the other spirits.

I trudged up the stairs slowly. My head felt thick and foggy, and I couldn't seem to sort through my own thoughts. I needed to talk to Tate, but I was nervous. What if he really had been the one that killed me?

I didn't find him in the attic, which came as a surprise to me. Beau was cowering in the corner, and that fact only served to confuse me more. I stuck around just long enough to comfort him before I left the attic and began to search the rest of the house. Tate must have been much more angry than I had thought if he had taken it out on Beauregard.

I found him in the study. He was seated on the edge of the sofa where I usually slept. He was staring out the nearest window, and his expression was unreadable.

"We need to talk," I said, trying to keep my courage.

"About what?" His voice was far away and strangely void of any feeling.

I sat down in the leather arm chair across from him. "I think that it's time you came clean. I need you to tell me everything."

He faced me, and his eyes seemed to be searching for answers. He knew that I had found something out, he just didn't know what, exactly. "What do you want to know?"

I gulped back the sudden wave of excess saliva that filled my mouth. My hands were clammy and cold. I dreaded the discussion that I was about to have. "Let's start with the murders."

"What murders?" he asked, innocence perforating his facade.

"This won't work if you aren't honest with me," I said.

"You'll be afraid of me if I tell you. Everyone is afraid when they find out."

"I haven't been frightened of you yet, Tate. What makes you think that I'll get squeamish now?"

He blinked slowly and deliberately, then stared down at his feet. "I killed fifteen people the day that I died."

It was like a hurricane was tearing through me. Fifteen people? How was that even possible? The gentle, warm boy that I knew could never do something so sinister. So monstrous.

"How? Why?" I pressed, trying my best to appear calm and rational. I had just promised him that I wouldn't get scared of him.

"This house is no place for the living. It changes people. I spent most of my life here, but it still got to me. I had a hard time with school, and I didn't have anyone to turn to. When my mom's boyfriend murdered Beau, something inside of me just... broke."

"So you killed people?"

"I went out that day to avenge Beau. I set that asshole on fire, but he lived. He walked free. His wife and daughters burned to death, and I wanted him to know how it felt." Colour was washing across Tate's face. His dark eyes were livid. "But it wasn't enough to stop there. I needed the world to share my pain. So I took some guns to school, and I killed fifteen people. Ever heard of the Westfield High Massacre?"

I was shaking. I regretted asking Tate about this. The truth was so much worse than I ever could have imagined. But still, that had been in his life. These memories that he was recounting were from long ago. He wasn't like that anymore. I needed to prove to myself that he had really changed.

"And Chad and Patrick?" I whispered, afraid of what I might discover.

"Nora was more of a mother to me than Constance ever was. When Nora asked me to get rid of them for her, I did. But the others here that I've killed, they were different. They were trying to kill Violet and Vivien. I had to save them, didn't I?"

I gaped at him. I knew that self-defense was a legitimate and acceptable excuse for taking a life, but to do it just because some woman in the basement had asked him to? Bile rose up in my throat, and my eyes began to water from the effort it took not to throw up. "What about the rape?" My voice was barely discernable. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Nora wanted a baby to replace Thadeus. I didn't mean for it to happen the way that it did. I just couldn't let her down," Tate's expression shifted, and he looked as if he were begging me to understand. I couldn't possibly sympathize with him now.

Something snapped into place in my head right then. He had said before that he could have tried to stop Constance from taking a baby if he had wanted to. Later on, she had accused him of having something to do with Michael killing his nanny. A tiny gasp sounded from deep within my chest. "Is Michael your son?"

He nodded, looking ashamed. "Yes, Vivien died just after giving birth to him."

I couldn't breathe. Tears started to fall silently from my eyelids, though I had believed mere moments ago that I had completely cried myself out. "It was Vivien that you raped?" I understood perfectly now why Ben had been so suspicious and angry about me sneaking into the nursery. He had every right to be. And Violet had every right to be unable to forgive Tate. He had done something utterly unspeakable to her family.

Tate stood up and slowly approached me. His cold hands came to rest gently on my shoulders, but I cowered under his touch.

"Did you kill me?" I breathed, choking on the question as the river of tears continued to pour from my eyes.

"What?" Tate stumbled backwards as if I had hit him. The look of horror on his face mirrored what I was dealing with inside.

"Did you kill me?" I repeated, still sickened by the fact that I even had to ask such a thing.

"Do you really think that I could do that?"

"I don't know what to think anymore, Tate," I cried out. "I thought you were good. I thought you were just lonely and miserable. But you're the most evil person I've ever met. And you don't even seem sorry for what you've done! Your only concern is whether or not I'll be afraid of you."

"I can't believe you could ever think that I would hurt you," his eyes were brimmed with tears.

"I need to hear you say it."

The tears spilled over and left moist tracks down his cheeks. "I didn't kill you, Ainsley. I haven't killed anyone since those people that tried to kill Violet. I've changed; I'm better now. I don't seem sorry because it feels like it was a totally different person who did those things. But I am sorry that you ever had to find out about it. And I'm sorry that you doubt me. But I didn't kill you. I would never have forced you to stay in this house forever."

I wanted to believe him. But these revalations were making my head spin. I felt a sudden need to lay down and take it all in. Tate was a murderer. He had killed twenty people, and he had set fire to another. He had raped a woman and gotten her pregnant. He was famous for killing high school kids. Where did that leave me? There was no doubt that I had feelings for him, and I still didn't want to lose him. I began to question my own sanity at that point. There was clearly something wrong with me. I got to my feet and began to walk away, feeling numb.

"Ainsley?" he called after me.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said. "I don't hate you. Somehow, I believe that you didn't kill me. That being said, I have to take some time for myself. I need to figure out why I told Patrick to go away when he hinted at these things, but I can't seem to say the same to you."

Tate stared as I turned my back on him once more. I didn't want to go up to the attic, because that had been his safe place first. I didn't want to go and see Violet, because the thought of what Tate did to her mother made me nauseous. But I didn't particularly want to be alone, either. I slipped silently into the basement for the first time in weeks. The cold, damp air seemed fitting for once.

I stopped short when I saw Constance walk in through the side door. She looked me up and down once, and then a dismayed look overcame her.

"There is only one possible explanation for you looking so torn up. How did you find out about Tate?"

"I heard a lot of rumors, so I told him that it was time for him to tell me everything. I wasn't prepared for it. I had no idea that he could do all of those things."

Constance frowned, and she clasped her hands together. "I would really like to be able to tell you that he's better now, or that he isn't what you think. But the truth is, that boy cut me out a long time ago. But you can take refuge in the knowledge that he has never done anything to hurt you. Has he, dear?"

I swallowed dryly. "No, he's been nothing but good to me."

"And that doesn't make you feel any better at all? If I could say the same, I wouldn't lose quite so much sleep at night."

I stared at her for several long seconds. She seemed to grow agitated under my curious eyes. Finally, I cleared my throat. "Constance, I think you're on to something."

"Glad to hear it," she smiled, though there wasn't really any feeling behind the gesture.

"I think there's a reason that I'm not as upset as I should be," I continued. "I mean, obviously I could be sick over this whole thing, but I'm not actually broken. He's a good guy underneath all of that history. And I think I'm falling in love with him."

Her smile turned slightly bitter, as if she had just tasted something that was far too tart for her liking. "Yes, he does have that way about him. That's what usually scares people. They just can't be as repulsed and disgusted as they would like to be with him. You be careful."

"Is there any point in being careful when I'm already dead?"

Constance seemed to be measuring me, taking in some important detail that I wasn't aware of. "Maybe the two of you are just the right fit for one another. Just don't let him have the upper hand."

"I'm pretty sure that ignoring his past will give me the upper hand for the next fifty years or so."

To my delight, Constance laughed in approval. She nodded her head at me and then turned around to find whatever she had come here for. It didn't really shock me when Travis emerged from the next room and met her with a smile. Death hadn't been able to separate the two of them, and it gave me hope.

It would take time to get over everything that I had just learned about Tate, I knew, but I had all the time in the world. And just because I knew that I was bound to forgive him eventually, that didn't mean that we had to make up right now. It was perfectly acceptable for me to take a few days for myself. Or maybe even a few weeks. Hell, if it took a year, that would still be a minimal amount of time in this house. I had a lot of things that I needed to adjust to now.