Home Invasion

Skittish brown eyes scanned across the wide front window of the Victorian LA home. Tate's fingers locked into the fabric of his pants as he watched the family of three and their moving assistance walk up the door to the house, and set boxes down. We're being invaded, he thought to himself, though he felt a great deal of pity course through him for the family that was moving in. They looked nice, genuinely, and he knew they would meet their demise here. He was especially concerned for the very cute teenage girl in purple. Right there, without having had spoken to her, he decided he would make it his mission for as long a time as they would live there, or die there, he would try to drive them out, and if he couldn't, he would do everything he could to protect this family and their daughter.

He decided he would introduce himself– without telling them he was dead and all. Yeah, that would be a surprise he would save for later. He couldn't get outside the house so he had to make his random entry seem casual. When they walked inside, he stood by the door, brightly smiled. 

"Hey," he spoke casually and waved a hand, and the girl tilted her head. "I'm Tate. I live a few houses down from here." Lie. The girl cocked an eyebrow and held her hand out, nodding. "Violet." Her voice was smooth and Tate took an extreme liking to it; an extreme liking to her, which could potentially be a serious problem, without a doubt. "I heard you were movin' in here, and I just wanted to be the first... to say, y'know.. welcome to the neighborhood." Violet took her hand back and nodded. She had a very sophisticated rebel-without-a-cause vibe to her, but there was a definite aura of sophistication. Tate liked that, liked that she was the polar opposite of him; she might actually be a good influence. 

"I heard there's a room where I can treat my patients," the man said, presumably Violet's dad. Moira was quick to answer, "Yes, Dr. Harmon. The office; follow me," and with that, she took to leading the man– Dr. Harmon– down the hall. Tate turned to the teenage girl in front of him once more, curious to find out exactly what sort of doctor her father was. He guessed she sensed the curiosity on his face, and spoke up, using hand gestures as she spoke. "That's my dad, he's a therapist."

Good. Fantastic. Wonderful. Tate was pretty fucked up– he would be the first one to admit it. Maybe he'd use this whole therapist thing to his advantage, a reason to be in the house around Violet more often. "Oh," he nodded, and with that, their conversation was pretty much over. It was awkward, he'll admit, but it was good enough a start as any.

Violet began the trek up to her room. She wondered how the stranger– Tate, was it?— got into the house anyway, and then, who was this red haired maid? How'd she get here? How did they get here? Flopping down on her pre-set up bed, she shrugged, turned her iPod into full blast, and decided not to question it anymore. 

Tate sat quietly in the basement and played with his fingers. Violet. Her dad's last name was Harmon. Violet Harmon. He needed to get to know her; he needed her, and he'd like to think she needed him. After all, if someone moves somewhere, don't they need friends? Tate could be her first friend, and they'd hit it off. She was really beautiful, he took note. He just needed to find reason to be in the house other than the fact of oh yeah I'm dead and I kind of can't leave because that's kind of creepy and probably a pretty big turn off, right? A microscopic, and pretty pathetic, sigh slipped past his lips as he slumped into his chair. He was going to figure this out, even if it was going to kill him. (The SWAT Team beat the idea to it, but he can still think in metaphors, damn it.)

Days later, Tate gently knocked on the door to the office with the back of his hand and waited, standing back a polite distance from the wooden door, waiting for an answer. The door opened and out stepped Dr. Harmon. "Moira let me in," Tate said, before questions could be raised. Good save. "Oh," the doctor said. "Did you need Violet, or–?" A small, but still there, smile came to Tate's lips as he shook his head, blond hair falling across the high points on his brows. "No, actually, Dr. Harmon, I'm here to see you." 

Once settled in his office, Dr. Harmon crossed his legs over each other and relaxed into the easy chair while Tate sat in the one across. "So you said you wanted to see me, therapist-patient wise. You can call me Ben, by the way." Ben, Tate repeated mentally. "Yeah. My mom lives next door, so if you need to talk to her and whatever, you can." Ben nodded and relaxed a little more, satisfied with the politeness of his neighbor's son. "So what's been bothering you?" 

"It's this dream. I'm dressed in all black, I've got a gun. Big, heavy marine boots. Oh, and my face is all skeleton. Not, like, literal bones, but. Painted." Fingers curled over the sweater he was wearing and toes curled inside his shoes. Tate's voice was steady, confident, unlike his demeanor. "I think I'm gonna shoot up my high school." Ben's eyes widened a little at this. "For real?" Tate laughed under his breath. "No! No, in the dream. Or vision. Or, whatever."

It was all funny to him, really. He knew what was wrong with him, in all honesty. He was the textbook definition of a psychopath, always had been. He just hoped that Ben wouldn't tell Violet. 

"We'll get to where this dream is coming from, Tate, I promise you," Ben had said before guiding Tate out of his office with a polite back pat, and the blond could only nod. 

Showing himself upstairs, not that he needed to be shown anything, he glanced around and placed his hand on the wall, and walked forward. There was music coming from behind a closed door. Maybe it was Mrs. Harmon or maybe it was Violet and he was hoping it would be the latter. Upon entering the room, he was relieved to see that it was Violet.

She looked fairly startled. "How did you get in here?" A shrug of the shoulders was his answer. "Session with your dad." Violet nodded and resumed laying on her bed. Tate walked over to the iPod on the dock and slid his finger over the button, smiled, laughed.

"Christ, Violet. Don't you have any Nirvana on this thing?"