The *** House

Tate and I had made a sort of nest in the middle of the boxes in the attic. We had moved some of Beau's blankets to the floor, and I had gathered up several books that had been scattered around the room. Beau rolled his ball out to us, and Tate and I took turns rolling it back as we focused on the pages in front of us.

There was a sudden, crashing commotion from somewhere beneath us in the house. I looked over at Tate, but he appeared to be just as confused as I was. I hurried out of the attic and down the two flights of stairs until I reached the main floor. The front door was wide open, and the frame was splintered at the latch. Someone had broken in to the house.

I froze at the foot of the stairs, listening intently. I could hear movement in the living room, and I inched my way in. I ducked as a framed photograph soared through the doorway. As far as most of the world knew, this place was just an abandoned house. Why would someone be trying to rob it?

"Where are you?" the male voice was desperate. I stepped into full view, no longer afraid of who I was about to face.

"Jason?" I whispered, staring at the man's back.

He whipped around, and his vacant eyes focused on me. I hadn't even considered hiding from him this time. My brother let out a broken sob and opened his arms. Without considering what I was doing, I went to him and allowed him to embrace me. His fingers dug into my back; he was clutching me so hard that if I had been alive I might have thought he would break me.

"I knew that I wasn't going crazy," he murmured. "Now I can tell Mom and Dad."

"Wait," I pulled back, shaking my head. "You can't do that. You'll hurt them. They won't believe you, Jason. They'll think that you've gone crazy, and that will be more painful than anything they can handle right now."

His long face fell, and I could practically see the gears in his head churning. "But you're here, Ainsley," he argued. "They think you're dead."

"I am dead."

"I can see you, and I can touch you. Why are you hanging out here? We've been falling apart without you."

I squinted my eyes, somehow feeling as if that would help me to get inside my brother's mind. "No, I'm really dead. You can't tell me that they haven't buried my body yet. There is no way that you can really believe that I'm alive."

"You're talking to me," he stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

He was in denial. I had thought that allowing him to see me the other day would have reassured him that I was okay. Instead, it somehow gave him false hope that this whole thing had just been a prank. I would never do something so torturous to my family, and he should have known that. I knew that somewhere in the house, Tate was dying to say 'I told you so.'

"I haven't crossed over," I told Jason softly. "I needed to talk to you before I went. I need you to take care of Mom and Dad, and I need you all to know that I'll be okay. I know that it's going to be hard, and I know that you'll all feel lost for a little while. But that will pass. You guys need to keep going. You need to live for me, okay? No matter what happens, I love you. Thank you for being my brother, and for taking care of me. Now you need to go and take care of them."

"Who will take care of you now?" he whispered. His eyes were haunted once more, and he was quivering with emotion.

"Trust me, there are more than enough people to take care of me on the other side. I have to go now. So do you. Never forget me, Jason. I'll always remember you."

I gave him one last warm smile, and then I hid from him. He looked around wildly, searching for me long after I had vanished. I stepped aside, giving him plenty of room in case he decided to start physically reaching out to find me.

I felt hollow and empty as I watched his slow transformation. He crumpled to his knees, drawing in ragged breaths. He was broken. Whatever stupid faith had made him come back to find me was gone now, and all that remained was heartache. He buried his face in his hands and wept. I wanted to go to him, but I knew that I couldn't. If he knew that I was still here, there would be no stopping him. He would force my parents to buy the house, and they would all die.

Watching my brother dissolve proved to be too much for me to handle. I took to the stairs, hoping to return to Tate in the attic. At the landing, I found myself face to face with Patrick. Or was it Chad? He was tall with blonde hair and a round face. He looked angry all the time. Now, however, there was a morbid happiness radiating from him.

"Who's that?" he asked, trying to peer past me to catch a glimpse of Jason.

"Don't touch him," I snarled.

"My my," he smirked, amused. "Possessive, are we? I'm sure your little boyfriend Tate would love to know that there's someone else in your life."

"He's my brother, dickwad."

The ghost in front of me frowned. "So you don't intend for him to die in here?"

"If anyone lays a hand on him, I will personally slit their throat every day for the rest of eternity," I hissed venomously.

"You'd better tell that to your boy toy," he chuckled. "He has a nasty habit of bringing new spirits into this house. Whether they're wanted or not."

"Leave her alone, faggot."

I gaped at Tate with wide eyes. I knew that he had grown up in a different time period, but I felt a wave of nausea at his use of such an offensive word. I'd had friends that were gay. Actually, I probably wouldn't have called them friends. Acquaintances seemed more appropriate. "Tate," I said. "Don't call him that."

The other man looked surprised. "She has a conscience? Over vocabulary? You've truly outdone yourself, you little bastard," he spat at Tate.

"I told you to leave her alone, Patrick. I can do a lot worse than call you names. If you know what's good for you, you'll move on. And stop defending him, Ainsley. You don't know shit about him or his boyfriend."

I leaned back against the banister behind me, wondering if this was what Violet had meant when she had said he would scare me. I didn't like it. "I wasn't defending him," I said, though my voice came out a lot more timid than I had wanted it to. "I would never defend someone who looks at my brother like he's a piece of meat."

My words caught Tate's attention and held it tight. His burning eyes radiated anger. "Right, your brother. Why did he come back? You promised me that you wouldn't let him see you last time. How did he know you were here?"

"I didn't promise you anything," I countered. "He won't come back. I said my piece, and I told him that I was ready to cross over. He has no more business here. And if anybody tries to go near him, I'll destroy them."

"She's got fire in her," Patrick laughed. "Maybe she's a good fit for you, after all. Maybe you should kill her brother. I'd like to watch her tear you apart."

Tate pointed a long finger toward the living room, where my brother was still crying on the floor. "Make sure he gets out safely. It's not my fault if someone else gets to him first." He retreated back toward the attic, yanking down the retractable steps with unnecessary ferocity.

Rage pumped through me, and I punched the wall nearest to me. Patrick didn't look afraid. On the contrary, he looked thoroughly entertained.

"Keep that anger," he told me. "It'll come in useful if you're going to spend time with him. I wish that I'd had it before. Maybe I would have been able to fight back when he killed me. Chad was already dead, but I could have saved myself. Or maybe I could have saved that woman from being raped, or any number of other people lurking in the basement that died at his hands. Of course, most of them don't live here. Their time was up long before mine was. It's a good thing that you know for a fact he didn't kill you. Or maybe he did, how am I supposed to know?" Patrick's voice shifted to a light, almost teasing tone. "It's not like I follow him around and see what he does when no one else is watching."

I had wound up with my back to the wall, taking in all that he was saying. I felt robbed somehow; cheated. I had wanted to know about Tate's past, but I hadn't asked to be blindsided with it while I was trying to deal with my heartbroken brother. I hadn't wanted to discover something so horrible while I was already hurting. How could I be forced to let go of so many people all at once?

With barely a breath, I forced out a whisper. "Go away," I said, my voice hardly audible over my brother's echoing wails.

"Come again?" Patrick challenged, a glint of triumph in his light eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, then inhaled sharply. Closing my eyes, just as Tate had told me to, I screamed as loud as I possibly could. "Go away!"

When I opened my eyes again, he was gone. The only proof that he had ever been there was the way that I felt inside. I stumbled down the stairs to the living room, where my brother was now just a heap in the middle of the floor. He was no longer crying out loud, but his jerking motions made it clear that he had not finished releasing his pain. I made sure to stay hidden this time, and I lay down beside him on the hardwood floor.

And then I began to cry.