The *** House

The Gothic-looking girl laughed in my face. She braved stepping closer, though it didn't seem all that brave considering they outnumbered us. "People thought I was a freak. But I was nothing compared to the two of you. I never hurt anybody."

"Neither have I," I whimpered. "I'm a good person."

The girl laughed again, and there was actually humour in it instead of rage. "You really don't remember much about your life, do you?"

"I remember everything about my life."

"Ainsley," Tate whispered softly into my ear. "We should go."

"No," I shook my head and ignored his request. "I need to figure all of this out first."

"They're trying to get revenge against me," Tate continued in his rational, caring tone. "They're just messing with you."

"Oh come on!" the cheerleader yelled. Her incredulous voice reverberated in the still night air. "You must have seen it by now. Don't protect her. You didn't protect anyone else, did you? Tell her the truth! Your girlfriend is just as insane as you are."

"She's not insane!" Tate screamed out, standing abruptly and leaving me to huddle into myself. "Whatever you're talking about has nothing to do with her. If you want revenge, I'm right here. Take whatever you want. But don't try and drag her into it."

"Be straight here," the Gothic girl continued, her eyes dancing maniacally in the fire's light. "She wigs out, doesn't she? Maybe she hits you, maybe she just screams a lot. She becomes someone else. And I mean that literally. Then afterwards, everything is peachy keen again and she carries on like it never happened. Am I right?"

I looked up at Tate. He was glowering at them furiously, but there was a flicker of acceptance in his black eyes. I felt my mouth fall open, shocked by what I was seeing. He wasn't surprised by what they were saying. He wasn't verbally defending me anymore. He was agreeing with them, but he was afraid to say the words.

"I've never done those things to you," I said, my voice breaking. "I would never. I love you, Tate."

He looked down at me sadly. It had been months since he'd said those words to me. The both of us had carried on, pretending that they had never left his pale lips. This was the first time that I had ever said it to him, and I was pretty sure that he had given up hope that I ever would. It was true, though. I did love him. I wasn't totally certain if I would have loved him if I'd had the chance to be with anyone else, but that part was irrelevant.

Tate slowly lowered himself back down to the sand. He pressed his lips carefully to my forehead. "I love you too, Ainsley. But I think you're sick. Sick like me."

I pulled away, shaking my head. "No, I'm not. I might not be the nicest person in the world, but I'm not like you." I could see that my words stung him. "I'm not. I didn't bring a gun to school. I didn't light someone on fire, and I didn't rape anyone. I'm not a killer. I'm not like you," I carefully enunciated every word of the last sentence. Each syllable lashed out and struck Tate. He looked at me, deflated.

"Sometimes you go into the basement," he whispered. "You just lose yourself down there. You freak out for awhile and make everyone afraid of you. Then you come back up, and you forget everything that you've just done. You've never hit me, and you've never hurt anyone upstairs. It's mostly the ghosts that you didn't like to begin with. You're always nice to Beau, and to Violet. You attacked Nora. It was only a few days ago."

I continued to inch away from him. I had my back to the others gathered on the beach; honestly, I'd forgotten that they were even there until a hand came to rest on my shoulder. The boy with the long hair was smirking down at me.

"They said at your memorial that you were okay when you were on your meds. They said that your parents ground them into your food, and you didn't even know that you were on them. They said you got suspended twice for fighting in the hallways. Other than that, they really didn't have much nice to say about you at all."

I could feel the prickling sensation behind my eyes that signaled the formation of tears. "Medication?" I asked in a strained whisper.

"I thought the dominant personality was supposed to know about the other one," the jock mused lightly. "Unless, of course, we're dealing with the other one right now."

"I haven't blacked out since I've been dead," I argued stubbornly.

"Maybe you just haven't noticed," the cheerleader picked at a tear in her blood-soaked uniform. "It's easy to lose track of time once you stop caring to know."

I stumbled to my feet, hurrying away from the murder victims and back toward Tate. He caught me in his arms and held me close. "It's okay," he told me. "Ben will know what to do. We'll talk to him tomorrow. It's not your fault."

As the strangers watched, I broke down and buried my face in Tate's wool sweater. He kissed the top of my head a few times, all the while stroking my hair and rubbing my back. How could I have never been told about this before? Why had my family hidden it from me? Why had Tate kept it a secret? What was wrong with me?

"I'm bored," the jock spoke up suddenly. "Can we do what we actually came here to do now?"

I looked back just in time to see them all nod their heads. Tate's body went rigid, and the pack of them began to descend on us.

"Run home," Tate instructed. "I'll be there by sunrise."

"I don't want to be alone," I replied, pleading with him. "What if I do something to hurt someone?"

"No one else will be there until daybreak. Go, Ainsley." Tate's voice became authoritative, and I found that I couldn't argue further. He gave me a quick nudge toward the ocean, away from the approaching mob, and then he turned and ran. Instantly, the others picked up the pace. They tore after him, staggering slightly in the sand. I watched them disappear over the nearest hill, and I dropped to my knees.

I had hurt people. I had some kind of mental issue that had required medication. I really was sick like Tate.

I put out the fire, which was fading into embers by that time anyway, and headed back to the mansion. I wasted time by wandering down side streets and admiring various Halloween decorations along the way. I didn't want to go back, now more than ever. Maybe I could just lock myself in the attic forever. I would be safe if I was just left alone with Beau. But what if I lost it up there one day? I couldn't hurt Beau, I just couldn't. He was too fragile, too innocent. I couldn't be the one that brought him harm. I would rather hurt Tate than his brother. At least I knew that Tate could take it.

Eventually, I reached the sidewalk in front of the Murder House. I paused for a few minutes before I forced myself to step back onto the grass. I was going to be imprisoned here for another year. There was nothing that I could do about it.

I made my way into the study and curled up into a ball on the sofa. I pulled a ratty blanket over myself and cried until I fell asleep.

I awoke to Tate, breathless and sweaty, sitting down on the floor in front of me. The other inhabitants of the house began filing in through the front door and returning to their rooms of choice, I reached out and brushed my fingers through Tate's wavy hair, choosing to ignore all of the others in the house. He turned to look at me, forcing a smile.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Am I a monster?" I asked, trying not to break down and cry again.

"Of course not. You're just Ainsley."

"Can we go and see Ben? I want him to fix me."

Tate wordlessly got to his feet and lifted the blanket from my shoulders. He put a protective arm around me as he led me upstairs. He stopped at the door to the master bedroom and knocked politely. Vivien appeared almost instantly in the doorway, and she looked more than a little bit shocked to see the two of us standing before her.

"What brings you here?" she asked, making it very obvious that she was speaking only to me, as opposed to the both of us.

"I need to talk to Ben," I whispered.

"What's this about?" Vivien risked a hurried, accusing glance over at Tate.

"Apparently I'm sick," I answered bitterly. "Mentally, I mean. Tate thinks Ben can help me."

She shot another dark look in Tate's direction. "You don't seem ill to me."

"He's not the one that told me," I explained. "Tate has nothing to do with this. Please, can I just see what Ben has to say?"

Vivien still looked highly skeptical, but she nodded and stepped back, giving us ample room to pass by. Ben was sitting on the edge of their bed, and he stood up immediately at the sight of us. His eyes lit up, and he looked fully prepared to throw us out by our hair, if it came down to it. I quickly explained my situation, describing the run-in with the kids at the beach, as well as what Tate had admitted to me about my odd behaviour. Ben seemed unconvinced.

"How do I know this isn't just a set up so that you can weasel your way in close to my family again?" he demanded, glaring at Tate in hostility.

I sighed. I gently touched Tate's forearm and looking him in the eye. "Can you leave, Tate? Please?"

He looked torn. "But you need me."

I nodded slowly. "I do. I really do. But right now I need answers, and I can't get them while you're here. I'll come down to you soon, okay?"

Tate was visibly upset, but he clenched his jaw firmly and evacuated the room. I turned back to Ben, who looked both surprised and impressed that I had asked Tate to leave. I felt awkward and exposed without him beside me. The only real interaction that I'd ever had with this man was when he had tried to strangle me. I knew that Tate was likely waiting just outside of the door. He wouldn't leave me unprotected.

"Based on what you've told me, there could be any number of explanations. If I could run some tests, I would be able to give you a proper diagnosis. But as it is, I'm just not entirely certain that I can tell you for sure what's going on." Ben sounded apologetic, and the sincerity of his tone caught me off guard.

"But that boy specifically mentioned a dominant personality. Doesn't that mean something?"

"I think that what you believe that you're suffering from is Dissociative Identity Disorder. But you have to understand that it's rare. It's not like in the movies where two personalities can converse and be aware of one another. That isn't really how it works. But the odds of you having DID just aren't likely enough for me to diagnose it. And if you were under control with pills, as opposed to professional treatment, that leads me to believe that it's something else. And even if we figure out exactly what is going on, I can't really help you. It's not like you can just go out and pick up a prescription, is it? I'm very sorry, Ainsley. I would like to help you, really I would. You seem like a good kid, and Violet really seems to get along with you. But the reality of this situation is that you're stuck this way."

I nodded, though I felt hollow. His words had made their way through my ears and into my brain, but I couldn't truly grasp their meaning. This was too much for one day. I had learned I was sick, and then I had been told that there was no hope for me. I was doomed to suffer like this forever. Sooner or later, someone in this house was going to fight back. Or worse, one day I would hurt someone that I truly cared about.

I found Tate in the study shortly after. He had an odd expression on his face, and I knew that he had heard everything. I sat next to him, feeling numb.

"You'll be okay," he tried to comfort me. "It doesn't happen often."

"I love you," I murmured. "I need you to do something for me."

"Of course," he said, all too willing to help. "What do you need?"

"You're the only one I can possibly trust with this job. You're experienced, and you're smart. You'll figure it out."

I could feel a tension growing in Tate's body. He knew that he was getting himself into something that he would regret. "What do you mean?"

I rested my head on his shoulder. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Tate. I can't be here anymore. I can't know that I'm going to cause someone pain without even being aware of it. I just can't. I need you to find a way to get me out of this house. I need you to find a way to kill me. For good."