The *** House

Now that Constance had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't going to let any mediums near me, I found myself adapting to a new way of life inside of the house. I stayed completely clear of the basement, for starters. Hayden made a habit of coming to the main floor, and when she did, I would sneak upstairs or into the attic. I wasn't totally certain if he understood what was happening or not, but on occasion Beau would leave his attic fortress and venture to the basement to play with the others. The little girls down there had taken a shining to him, and I was happy that he had found friends. It also gave me some time to be alone.

Tate was like a permanent fixture; he was always there, even when I couldn't see him. I took solace in the knowledge that, since he was keeping such a close eye on me, he didn't have time to talk to Nora behind my back. The only times that I was unsure of his location was when I was with the Harmons.

Ben still had frequent sessions with me, though both of us knew by this point that there was no value in them. Nothing that we discussed was going to change what I did. He tried to dig into my childhood for some kind of repressed memory, but nothing worthwhile had come up. I wished that my problem was something as simple as parental issues, but there was simply no evidence of that. I honestly believed that everything had been caused by a deep-rooted loathing of myself. The only person I'd ever truly hated was me.

I had also inadvertently been avoiding Vivien. It wasn't a conscious decision. It was just that, every time she started to mother me, I got so awkward that I felt like a stranger in my own skin. I genuinely liked her, but I was scared to let her take over such an important role in my life. Maybe I was still holding onto my family, but I knew that anyone in my position would do the same. I still talked to her and was friendly when we were together, but I tried to make those run-ins as infrequent as I could.

Violet seemed to be a lot more comfortable with our friendship now that she knew that I was neither going to hurt her, nor leave forever. She started to actively search for me when she wanted to talk to me, instead of leaving messages with her father. She still wouldn't even spare a glance at Tate, but he was accustomed to that. Even I was used to it by now.

It seemed like things were finally becoming routine. And it was a routine that I was perfectly content with.

Early one morning, I was awakened to the sound of the front door opening and closing. Faint voices drifted in through the open archway between the study and the foyer. There were two females standing by the door, speaking quickly. I recognized one as Marcy the realtor. The other was a stranger. She was several inches taller than Marcy, with light hair and a long face.

"I'm going to level with you," the stranger was saying. "I'm not interested in buying this house. I've been in talks with a network for a reality show for about four years now, and they've finally signed me for a pilot. I want to do that first episode here, where I know a good deal of the house's history, as well as the current occupants."

Marcy appeared to be visibly flustered. "There are no current occupants. Nobody has stayed more than a night since the Harmon family."

"I mean the spirits here. You can't tell me that you've never noticed strange and unexplainable things in this house. There are more souls trapped here than you can imagine."

Marcy's perplexed expression hardened. "This house is not haunted. I have no interest in fueling those rumors that were started by that dreadful Murder House Tour. That is not the kind of publicity that will help me to sell this house. I live on commission, you know. I can't afford any more bad press."

"Do you have any idea how many people would want this house if they heard it was haunted? Some people have insane fascinations with the spirit world. They want to experience it firsthand. They want to witness evidence that there is something more after we die," the other woman continued.

I abandoned Tate in the study and moved toward the conversation. I had no idea what was going on. Some dime-store psychic wanted to try and catch us on film? Tate followed after me, stopping just behind me as we entered the foyer.

"This house does not have ghosts," Marcy said firmly. "There is no such thing as ghosts."

My stomach dropped as the stranger looked me dead in the eyes. I reached behind me and Tate caught my hand, squeezing tightly. "There are two right behind you that would beg to differ," she said to the realtor.

"I'm hiding," I whispered urgently. "How can she see me, Tate? I don't want her to see me."

"That's Billie Dean," he explained in a murmur. "She's the medium that tried to help Violet before. You can't hide from her."

I shrank back against him as the woman held my stare. She tried to give a kind smile. Marcy interrupted the moment with a haughty scoff.

"Stop trying to pull that psychic crap over on me. Ghosts aren't real. And there is no way that making people believe that will do anything to help the resale value of this house."

"You would be amazed," Billie Dean broke her gaze from me and looked back at the realtor. "If I bring in some interested buyers personally, then would you let me use this house? I have an idea for this pilot that can't possibly fail."

"Bring in the buyers first, then we'll discuss it further."

"Can I have a few minutes?" the medium asked, stepping past Marcy and toward me. Tate's hand tightened around mine protectively. "I'd like to get a feel for the souls of this house. It's been awhile since I've had the opportunity."

Marcy looked bored of the entire scenario, but she decided to humour the other woman. "Go ahead. I can't see what that would hurt."

"Thank you." Billie Dean walked past me, holding my stare as she did. I took the silent indication and followed her back into the study. "I know that you're kind of new to this world," she said, still walking ahead of us. She settled onto the couch and face Tate and I. "I could help you, you know." I noticed then that her mouth wasn't moving. Her words weren't verbal, yet they were radiating inside of my skull.

"How?" I demanded, still sticking close to Tate. I had chosen to speak aloud, as reading minds seemed just too crazy for me.

"I could dedicate the first episode of my show to you. The storyline would be about your journey after death. It would end with you finding peace; crossing over. What do you say?"

My body locked into a rigid position. I didn't know whether or not I could fully trust this woman, but her offer was tempting. She seemed to know what she was talking about. After all, not only could she see me when I was hiding, but she knew the one thing that I wanted most. She picked up on my hesitation before I could form any coherent words.

"I know that you've had a tough year. I knew as soon as I read about your death in the newspaper that you would be here. Let me help you."

"Constance will kill you," I managed to spit the words out. "She doesn't want anyone to know how to escape this place."

"It could be our little secret."

I shook my head. "There's no such thing as a secret here."

Billie Dean smiled widely. "You're smart. But don't you want to leave? I can feel it when I look at you. You may not have been ready for your death, but you also weren't ready to be trapped here. It just doesn't feel natural, does it?"

"It hasn't been all bad," I replied. I assumed that Tate was only able to hear my side of the conversation, but he still looked troubled by what was being said. He wasn't stupid; he knew what was going on. I took his hand and held it tight. Billie Dean's eyes fell on our entwined fingers, and she nodded her head slowly.

"Ah, yes. Of course you would have found comfort with him. You know what he's done?"

"I'm aware."

She continued to nod her blonde head as she got to her feet. "I'll come back," she promised. "Think about what I said. You're the one that I want for this pilot. And we both know that this is exactly what you need." She strode past us and left the room quickly.

"When will you come back?" For the first time, I simply thought the words. I was hoping that her telepathy worked both ways. Apparently, it did. She continued walking, but her voice still echoed in my head.

"The camera crew is set to show up in one week. Consider it."

I didn't respond one way or another as she left. Tate looked down at me with wide eyes, and I knew that he was begging me for answers. I didn't want to hide anything from him. It was only right for him to know exactly what Billie Dean had said. I cleared my throat awkwardly, finding that my mouth was suddenly very dry. I placed my free hand on his forearm, hoping that the gesture would be comforting.

"She wants to use me in her show. She wants to film me crossing over."

Tate's lips pressed together and formed a thin line. He looked at me with a combination of love and fear. A bit of moisture gathered at the bottom of his eyelids. "I knew that was going to happen. As soon as I saw her, I knew."

"She's coming back in a week. I have until then to decide."

He didn't look convinced by my words. "You've been searching for months. You have your answer now. Why wouldn't you take it? She's your only hope."

"But what about you?" I asked. I felt genuinely awful for wanting to accept Billie Dean's assistance when I knew that he would be left here all alone. He had already been trapped here that way for a couple of decades. It wasn't right for him to be stuck that way forever. I didn't want to think about him sitting in the attic all alone.

"Nothing will change for me," he said. "I'll still be here, just like I always have been."

"Tate, I-"

"No, don't," he interrupted, pulling his hand free from mine and waving me off abruptly. "I was wrong to want you gone when you first came here, but I was just as wrong to hope that you would stay forever. This house was meant to ruin the lives of the people that live here, but that was never the case with you. You only took a few breaths on the property. This is not a home to you. You need to go where you should have gone a year ago. I understand that."

I felt my own tears spring forward and push their way past my eyelashes. "I want you to know that you made me happier here than I can ever remember being when I was alive."

Tate let his tears fall as well. "It wasn't enough."

"It was," I corrected him, sniffling. "But it just can't be that way forever. There has to be more."

"So you believe you're going to heaven?" I could hear the cynicism in his tone.

"No. I believe I'm going to die. I don't think that heaven or hell is waiting on the other side. I just hope there will be peace. I tried to be strong for you, but that's not who I am. I'm terrified every day. Every morning I wake up and check my hands for any traces of blood. I'm sorry that I'm weak. But I can't hurt anyone again. I can't live with the knowledge that this other side of me is trying to kill people. I am everything that I hate. I can't continue like this. Even if there is a hell, that might be better. At least then I'll suffer for what I've done. Here, you stand up and fight for me every single time someone confronts me. That's not repentance, it's cowardice. I want to have repercussions when I do something wrong. I want to feel like a debt has been paid."

Tate's face grew hard and emotionless. "Then you really do have to go. Because I'm trying to make up for past wrongs here, too. And I can't just let someone hurt you for something that you aren't even aware that you're doing. I can't stand by while that happens. I have to protect you."

His words were kind, but his eyes were on fire. It was like his inner turmoil was visible in his irises. I looked away.

"We still have a week, Tate. Please don't leave it like this."

"How else am I supposed to leave it?"

I took a step backwards, trying to decipher his tone. He was angry with me, but I had expected that. I was hoping that he could see past his rage and focus on how desperately I needed this. But that didn't seem to be the case. I wiped away the last of my tears. "I'll leave you alone, then. You're the only boy I've ever loved. When you think back on our time together, try to focus on that. Don't remember me as the selfish girl who left you to try and save herself. Remember me as the girl who stayed for longer than she ever wanted to, simply because she couldn't bear to say goodbye."

As my voice broke, I turned away. I ran straight into Violet's room, not even bothering to knock as I shoved my way inside. She was standing there with Billie Dean, and both of them turned my way in surprise as I entered. After the initial shock, both took on an expression of understanding. Violet looked incredibly sad, and Billie Dean appeared to be almost proud.

"You're in?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

I took a moment to gather myself. My eyes fell on Violet, and I offered her a silent apology. "Get me out of this house, Billie Dean."