The *** House

She pressed her index finger to her lips, indicating that she wished for me to remain silent. I followed her upstairs and into the bedroom that used to be Tate's. Violet sat on her bed and motioned for me to do the same. I joined her, feeling confused and somewhat alone. She had remained hidden for all of this time, and now out of the blue she was reaching out to me. I leaned casually against the wrought-iron frame that hedged the foot of the mattress, hoping that she didn't notice my discomfort.

"He'll be down there awhile," she said. "Things always get out of hand when Constance shows her face."

"That was Constance?" I asked. "The woman from next door?"

Now it was Violet's turn to look puzzled. "Is that all Tate told you about her?"

"He mentioned that she took a baby from the house, but that's really all that I managed to get out of him."

"That's his mother. And the baby..." her voice trailed off, and she looked torn. "I don't know what I should really be telling you."

"She's his mother?" I found my mind struggling to latch on to this particular detail. "But he really seemed to hate her. And she practically accused him of killing me!"

Violet's eyes shifted, and she stared arbitrarily at the wall. A laugh tore from her throat, though it was from darkness as opposed to humour. "That isn't exactly an unheard of notion."

I felt my jaw fall slack, and I gaped at her in complete shock. She looked back at me, and seemed to feel my panic.

"I mean," she quickly began to backpedal, "that ghosts have killed people in the past. You know those redheaded twin boys? Thadeus killed them. I assume you've met Thadeus?"

My shoulders quaked in a shudder at the memory. "Yeah, I've met Thadeus. But there are some things that I really feel that I should know. About Tate, I mean. He doesn't like to talk much about his past. He's told me practically everyone's back story except for his own. And yours. He gets really quiet and distant when you come up in conversation."

Violet sighed and got to her feet. She wandered aimlessly around the room, moving trinkets from one place to another. "Tate has done a lot of things," she said softly. "Most of them were things that he did before he died. And he really has changed since then, so I believed that I could get past them. But then I started to discover more and more about him. I couldn't forgive him. He understood that, even though I broke his heart. Deep down, he knew exactly why I told him to go away."

I watched as she glanced over at a chalkboard on the wall. It was clean and empty; I had no idea what she was looking for. "What did he do?"

"I don't think I should tell you everything," she whispered. There was a longing in her voice. I knew then that she had really loved him. Whatever he had done must have been awful for her to move on. "That's really his own business. But I will tell you that you can discover some of it online. Most of it can be learned from the others in the house."

I drew in a few deep breaths as I digested her words. "How did he die? He told me that he was shot. He even told me that it was in this room. But he wouldn't go into any more detail. His mother's boyfriend killed Beau, though. Did she have something to do with his death? Is that my he hates her so much?"

Violet sat back down and set a pillow in her lap. She looked down at it as she played with the pillowcase. "Tate's hatred of Constance runs much deeper than death. He blames her whole-heartedly for the way that he turned out. He never wanted to be a bad person. But eventually, there should come a time where we stop blaming our parents and realize that it's our own fault that we're fucked up. He has never learned that lesson. Constance wasn't the one that killed him."

I watched her carefully. "And you? Not to pry, but how did you get wrapped up in all of this?"

"I killed myself. Tate tried to save me, but he was too late. He loved me, but I was afraid of him. I had just found out a lot of stuff about him. Don't get me wrong, I loved him too. And he had tried so hard to protect me from everything. Make no mistake, Ainsley, he will do anything for someone that he loves. He'll kill people, if he thinks that it's justified. But underneath all of that, he's just a kid. He never had any real direction, and he's got his fair share of issues. But if he loves you, you will never have to be afraid of him. It's everyone else that has something to fear."

I could feel how wide and troubled my eyes were. Until now, Tate had been the only person that had ever had a full conversation with me. It was extremely unsettling to hear these things about him. I cared about him, and Violet was not the first person to warn me about him.

"Look, I'm really not trying to scare you," she said, pushing the pillow aside and resting her elbows on her knees. "If you want to be with Tate, go for it. I do want him to be happy. I just wanted you to know that if anything happens, you have a place to go. He won't bother you in here. Even if you just want to talk, I'll be around."

I fought back a bitter laugh. "Of course you'll be around. It's not like any of us can leave. But thank you, that means a lot."

She smiled pleasantly, and for a moment I could clearly see her resemblance to her mother. "Take care of him for me."

"I will."

"Hey, just out of curiosity, how did you die? Nobody besides Constance or the realtor has been here in months." Violet played absentmindedly with a strand of her hair.

I frowned, feeling grim. Slowly, I showed her the long holes that perforated my stomach. "I got mugged and tossed into the bushes. They just found my body this morning."

To my surprise, she smiled. "Good. I'm glad that it wasn't because of someone here. We've been trying really hard to keep everyone in line over the past few years."

Despite Violet's kindness and her thorough explanations, I still found that my curiosity wasn't satiated. "Who is Michael?"

Violet got to her feet and walked over to the doorway. She pulled open the door and tilted her head, indicating that I had overstayed my welcome. I apologized meekly as I got to my feet and began to leave.

"It's just that he'll start to notice if you're gone too long," she explained. "He always notices. Come to think of it, I haven't heard him yelling at Constance for awhile. He's probably looking for you as we speak. Come back anytime, Ainsley."

"Thanks again," I said as I stepped out into the hallway. The door closed swiftly behind me, and I barrelled down the stairs. I noticed that even when she wanted me to leave, Violet had avoided telling me to go away. It was nice to feel accepted by more than one person in the house.

I reached the landing and found that Tate and Constance were gone. I explored the main floor of the house in search of them, but found no traces of either one of them. I ventured down to the basement, but found that it, too, was empty. Well, it was never really empty. But neither one of them was down there. Clearly Constance had been, though. Travis was sitting against a wall, looking somewhat relieved. I approached him quickly.

"Have you seen Tate?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "He went up to see Beau with Constance. They needed somewhere quiet to talk. Probably about you." He flashed me a goofy grin, but I didn't return the gesture. I didn't want to think about Constance talking about me. She didn't know me. Tate didn't even really know me yet; we hadn't even known each other a week.

"Thanks, Travis," I said before I ran back upstairs.

As I passed by Violet's room, my stomach dropped. If Tate had walked past while the two of us had been talking about him, what had he overheard? Maybe Constance had talked enough to keep him distracted. But surely he had noticed that I was missing. I entered the attic as quietly as possible, hoping not to disturb anyone. Tate was standing with his back to me, arms folded over his chest. I didn't want them to see me, so I ducked behind a stack of boxes. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity as I remembered that I could only be seen if I wanted to be. I could stand right in front of him and he would never know that I was even in the room. Constance was sitting primly on the cot, and Beau was curled up beside her. His bulbous head rested in her lap, and she petted his hair like he was a dog.

"Why do you think that it's my fault?" Tate snapped angrily.

"Did you not hear me? Michael killed his nanny. Out of all of my children, only one has ever had homicidal tendencies before," Constance reasoned in a measured tone.

"He's never met me. You made damn sure of that, didn't you?"

"The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. He must have gotten his bad genes from somewhere."

"I got my genes from you," Tate countered.

"You must have gotten those particular ones from your father," she retorted.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Tate seethed. "I've been here a long time. I know now that Dad didn't run away with Moira. Moira is still here!"

"Come on now, Beau," Constance murmured gently as she lifted her son's head from her lap. She stood up straight and found herself chest to chest with Tate. She didn't seem afraid of him. Rather, she seemed to be challenging him. "That little tramp is a liar. Whatever she's told you can't be trusted. She tells more tall tales than you do, honey."

Tate stood his ground. "Deal with the kid yourself. He's not my problem."

"That's right, Tate. Nothing is your problem, is it? Not the murders, not the arson, and not the baby." With that, Constance tossed her head and stalked away from him. She unwittingly passed right by me as she headed for the stairs. She disappeared from sight, and the click of her footsteps followed suit.

Beau hopped clumsily from the mattress and crawled back into his corner. Tate didn't move. As I watched him, my insides churned. Murders? Arson? The baby?

Even Violet's words hadn't shaken me as much as these few things that I hadn't been meant to overhear. But they should have known better. In a house full of ghosts, there is no such thing as a private conversation.