American Horror Story - "Furnace Room Lullaby", Violet/Tate, M
Title: Furnace Room Lullaby - 4/?
Author:
lindentree
Rating: M
Character(s:): Violet/Tate
Word Count: 4,121
Summary: "Nothing, not even light, can escape." A Violet/Tate AU mystery-horror murder ballad AU set in 1994.
With her dad away at a conference in Boston and her mom transparently paranoid that he was actually there screwing his ex-mistress, the following weekend was a tense one at home. If Violet had had any friends at all, she would have made a point of being out of the house. But seeing as Tate was the closest thing to a friend she had and she hadn't seen him since telling him off over a week ago, she was out of luck, and found herself confined to the house with her mom.
Her mom, whose wounded expression Violet couldn't get out of her head. Vivien was lonely and lost, anxious about her marriage and her perilous new pregnancy, and all she wanted was to reconnect with Violet. Violet understood her feelings all too well. But she couldn't stand it, how her mom had forgiven her dad so easily, how she was acting like her pregnancy was the best news ever.
Every time Violet looked at her mom lately, all she felt was contempt.
That feeling had spilled over into words, with Violet accusing Vivien of being weak, and now Vivien barely acknowledged her except in the most polite, necessary terms. Violet was sorry; her mom wasn't the one in this family who deserved her ire. But she couldn't apologise, wouldn't. So she sat alone in her room, reading and listening to music and contemplating forcing a break in the monotony with a new cut to her forearm.
Violet flipped through the book from the school library, which was now overdue. She returned for the dozenth time to the all too short blurb about her house, rereading the words yet again. It talked of the original owners; they had died in a murder-suicide after the disappearance of their infant son. It talked of the murder of some student nurses in the late '60s. It talked of the revolving door of owners and tenants, and of the "mysterious happenings" that plagued the house. But there was nothing specific, no real details, just a lot of vague bullshit. The house was strange - that much was obvious. But what was its real story?
With a disgusted snort, Violet closed the book and tossed it aside. What was the point of writing about all of these supposed horrible events in the house's history if you weren't going to report all the gory details?
The doorbell rang. Violet ignored it, knowing that if Moira had gone home for the night, her mom would answer it. The CD in her stereo spun to a stop with a soft click, and Violet rolled off the bed to change it. She flipped through her CDs and was about to put on Violent Femmes when the doorbell rang again.
Violet frowned, and popped the CD back into its case. She listened to the silence, wondering why her mom wasn't answering the door. Then there was a loud bang, followed by the sound of someone pounding on the front door.
"Mom?" she called. There was no answer, and so Violet went to her door and poked her head out into the hallway. The pounding downstairs continued, and she walked out into the hallway. The noise stopped abruptly.
"Violet? Violet! Answer me!"
Frowning, Violet went down the stairs to the landing, where she found her mom halfway up, her hand on the banister.
"What's wrong?" Violet asked, taking in Vivien's anxious expression.
"Where's the cordless?"
"Upstairs. Why, what's - "
"Go upstairs, lock yourself in your bedroom, and call 911."
"What? Mom -" but Violet was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing again.
"Now, Violet!"
Violet turned and dashed up the stairs, grabbing the cordless phone from its stand in the hallway as she made her way to her bedroom. Whoever it was out there had begun pounding on the front door again. Violet flipped the phone over and began to dial, surprised to find that her hands were shaking. The sound of her bedroom door creaking made her turn around.
There was a woman standing in the doorway.
Violet couldn't help it; she screamed. The strange young woman stepped forward, knocking the phone from her hands. It hit the floor and skittered under the bed. The woman was sallow-faced and thin, but taller than Violet and surprisingly strong as she wrapped her arms around her and dragged her from the room.
"Get the fuck off me!" Violet hissed, her fear turning to anger. She kicked her feet, catching one of the tables in the hallway and knocking it over, struggling as she tried to free her arms. But the woman was immoveable, her arms like a band as she hauled Violet down the stairs and dumped her on the living room floor.
Vivien was there too, crouched on the floor with a man standing over her, one hand pressed to a bloody wound at her hairline.
"I have money," Vivien was saying, her voice shaking. "You can have whatever you want , just - "
"They have money," the woman snickered, glancing at her companion. He scoffed.
"We'll get that later," he said. "But we don't care about money. We're here for the house."
"The house?" Vivien repeated, bewildered. "What about the house?"
"Don't you know where you're living?" the woman asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Vivien. "God, you don't even appreciate what you have! This house deserves so much better than you. It deserves to have people who understand it, who see how unique it is. That worthless people like you have it, it just makes me want to -"
"Easy, babe," the man said, reaching out and touching her arm. "We'll get to that later. I wanna check this place out. Tie them up."
The anger on the woman's face disappeared, and she grinned. She grabbed a coil of nylon rope from a duffel bag sitting at the man's feet, and began tying Vivien's hands together behind her back.
Violet watched, her mind racing to find a means of escape. When the woman finished tying Vivien's ankles together, she grabbed another piece of rope and came towards Violet. As soon as she touched Violet's forearm, Violet reached out and slapped her as hard as she could, adding a kick to the shins for good measure.
"Ow!" the girl hissed, stumbling back. "Jesus Christ! This bitch just kicked me!"
The man stepped forward and yanked Violet to her feet by her upper arm. He grabbed the back of her head, pulling her hair hard enough to make tears spring to her eyes.
"Fucking do what we say or we'll kill you right here," the man ground out.
"Fuck you!" Violet replied, grabbing at his arm to try to free herself. The man backhanded her, sending her sprawling to the floor.
"Violet!" Vivien cried.
"Come on," the man said, hauling her roughly to her feet once again. "If we can't trust you to stay here and be good, you'll just have to come with us."
They half marched and half dragged her out into the hallway.
"What do you think we should do first - the basement?" the man asked, his hands bruising Violet's arms. She grimaced, and tried to force herself to stop struggling.
"No, let's save the basement for last," the woman replied, with all the breathless happiness of a child at Disney World. The man leaned down and kissed her, heedless of Violet, who was nearly squished between them. Violet turned away as much as she could, her stomach turning.
"The second floor won't take long," the woman said after they parted and began to ascend the stairs. "I mean, hardly any murders even happened up here. There's not that much to look at. But I still want to see."
"Of course," the man replied cheerfully, giving Violet a shove to move her along up the stairs.
As they entered the upstairs hallway and began to move towards the master suite, Violet cleared her throat.
"I get it," she said, keeping her tone calm and even. "At first I figured you must be burglars, or crackheads looking for a place to crash. But I get it now. You're just weirdoes who are into murders, macabre shit like that. Is that right?"
"Shut up," the man replied, shoving her through the doorway of her parents' bedroom.
"No, I mean, I get it. I do. It's interesting, that stuff. But what's the deal, do you find places where murders have happened and... What? Set up an altar in the corner? Play with your Ouija board? Hump your skanky girlfriend?"
"Watch your mouth," the woman snapped.
The man gave Violet another push, letting her go, and she turned around to face them, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Honestly, I'm really just curious," Violet said. "Did kinky sex and writing to death row inmates get stale?"
The man glowered at her, and Violet could tell she was starting to bug him. She grinned.
"I wouldn't smile if I were -" the man began to say, but he was interrupted by a loud thump from downstairs, followed by what sounded like footsteps on the hardwood. "God damn it!" he swore, turning to the woman. "You didn't tie her tight enough! I knew one of us should have stayed down there to watch her."
"But baby," the woman whined, her face crumpling, "I want to do this with you!"
"Here," he said, pulling a handgun out of the back of his jeans and passing it to her. "Keep an eye on her. I'll go find the other one. She won't go far with her daughter in the house. Shoot her if you have to, I don't give a shit anymore."
He left the room, his feet pounding on the stairs as he went back down to the main floor. The woman turned and looked at Violet, the gun hanging limply in her hand.
"You're going to ruin everything," the woman accused, practically pouting as she glared at Violet.
"Sorry," Violet replied blandly.
They stood in a silence that bordered on comically awkward, the woman fiddling restlessly with the gun in her hand. Watching her, Violet hoped she at least had the safety on.
There was a loud crash from downstairs, and the woman's head whipped around to look out the door.
"Babe?" she cried. She didn't even stop to give Violet a cursory threat about staying put; she dashed out the door and down the stairs. Violet stood still for a moment, then followed the woman, deciding not to waste any time in seizing this opportunity to escape.
As she rounded the landing, there was a loud crack and a thump. Violet skidded to a stop to see Tate standing at the base of the stairs, a heavy paperweight from her dad's office held over his head. The woman was collapsed in a heap at his feet.
"Tate?" Violet gasped, stunned.
Tate looked up, his arms coming down to his sides. He set the paperweight down on the floor and took the stairs two at a time, stopping a step below her.
"Did they hurt you? Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.
"N-no, I'm fine. Tate, what -"
"Violet!"
Violet looked around Tate. Vivien stood in the foyer, the fire iron clutched tightly in her hands.
"Mom!" she cried. She went quickly down the stairs, stepping over the woman at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you okay?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of her mother.
Vivien dropped the fire iron to the floor and grabbed Violet into a tight hug.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," she replied. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. What the hell happened?" she stepped away from her mom to see her better, glancing at Tate as he came down the stairs to stand a few feet from them, by the woman.
"She's out cold," Tate said, looking down at her. "Did you call the police?"
"Y-yeah," Vivien replied, anxiously running a hand through her hair and blowing out a breath. "He's out, too. I don't think I hurt him too badly, but - I mean, I don't -"
"What happened?" Violet repeated.
"Well, after they took you upstairs, I was trying to untie myself when Tate came."
"I was taking the garbage out a little while ago when I heard someone scream," Tate supplied, looking at Violet. "The lock on the back door was busted, and I got worried that someone had broken in. So I came in."
Violet nodded, looking back at Vivien, who continued.
"Tate untied me, and then we tried to lure the guy back down here, and I knocked him out while Tate hid, and then I watched him while Tate waited for her to come downstairs."
"Holy shit," Violet breathed. "Way to go, mom!"
Vivien gave her a tight smile, and then held a hand to her cheek. She was very pale. "I think I need to sit down."
"It's okay, Mrs. Harmon," Tate said in a soft, reassuring tone.
"Yeah, mom, you kicked ass!" Violet said, wrapping an arm around her waist. Vivien was trembling, her hands shaking. "Come on, I'll make you a cup of tea. Or something stronger."
Vivien nodded, and then turned to Tate. "I'm sure your mother must be wondering where you are, but... Look, I know this is probably crazy, but would you mind staying with us until the police get here?"
Tate's face lit up and he smiled. "Of course, Mrs. Harmon. It's not crazy at all."
Violet took her mother into the kitchen while Tate dragged the woman into the living room with the man and kept an eye on them. In only a few minutes, two police cars and an ambulance were in the driveway. Violet found herself repeating her story to different officers as the two assholes who broke into her house were taken away on stretchers.
It was after midnight when the last cop car left and the house was quiet again. Vivien went to call Ben, leaving Tate and Violet alone in the kitchen.
"I should probably go," Tate said, gesturing at the back door.
"Yeah, I guess," Violet replied.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine," Violet shrugged. "More worried about my mom than anything. And pretty glad that we're neighbours."
Tate nodded, looking down. "I'm just glad you're okay," he mumbled. "I don't know what I would have done if they'd hurt you."
Violet stared at the top of his downturned head and found she didn't have a reply, sarcastic or otherwise.
After a moment, Tate looked back up and gave her a nod. "See you around," he said.
"See you around," Violet echoed numbly.
Tate went out the back door, and Violet closed the door behind him, watching as he disappeared between the houses. When he was gone, she jammed a chair under the doorknob. It wasn't exactly secure, but it would have to do until the locksmith came tomorrow.
Violet left the kitchen and stood in the foyer, listening to the silence. The house was so quiet that, for a moment, it was almost as though it was holding its breath.
That night, Vivien made Violet sleep in the master bedroom with her, the fire iron resting against the night stand, and every light in the house turned on.
***
"Don't be too angry at your dad," Vivien said. She pulled the car to a halt at a stop sign, checking the intersection from behind her sunglasses. It had been a week since the break-in, and once the locks had been fixed, a security system installed, and police interviews and re-interviews endured, things had mostly gone back to normal. Or normal for the Harmons, anyway, which meant that Vivien was terrified of her own shadow while pretending not to be, Violet was treating her father to an icy protracted silence, and Ben walked around with a forced smile on his face, suggesting things like "family game night" as though a game of Monopoly would fix everything.
Violet eyed her mother for a moment, and then huffed and turned away as Vivien took a right turn, headed in the direction of Westfield High. "Why not?" she asked. "You are."
A smile quirked at the corner of Vivien's mouth. "Yes, I am. But he's my husband, and he's your father. It's different."
"Either way he's still an asshole."
"Enough," Vivien said. Her voice was tired.
"Whatever," Violet sighed, sinking lower in her seat and glaring at the houses as they passed.
They were silent for the rest of the ride, which thankfully was not long. Violet only had to endure the tense silence for another three minutes before Vivien pulled up in front of the school. She put the car in park and removed her sunglasses, turning to look at Violet.
"Sweetheart -" she began, but Violet grabbed her bag from the floor and cut her off.
"Bye," Violet said, opening the door and getting out. "Don't worry about picking me up. I'll walk home." With that, she slammed the door shut and shouldered her bag, turning in the direction of the school.
Without looking back, she walked around the side of the school, as though she was going to use one of the rear entrances. Instead she kept walking past the student parking lot, past the row of dumpsters with their congress of hovering wasps, out toward the bleachers on the far side of the football field.
The track team was out for their morning practice, running laps. Violet skirted around them, keeping her distance and ducking behind the safety of the bleachers. She breathed a sigh of relief, pleased to find no one else back there. She was alone.
Violet found a spot to sit, facing away from the school, towards the chain link fence that divided the field from the back lane. She sat cross-legged, leaning back against one of the rusted metal supports, and hauled her bag into her lap. She pulled out her walkman and put the headphones on, hitting play on the tape already inside. It was a tape she'd made herself, full of songs she'd heard on the local college radio station. Violet's last several evenings had been spent sitting next to her stereo, her finger poised over the record button, waiting for her favourite songs to be played, trying to avoid accidentally recording the DJ's intros.
She lit a cigarette and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the metal post behind her. She smoked slowly, savouring the rich tobacco and the acrid aftertaste on her tongue. By the time she stubbed her cigarette out on the bottom of her sneaker, she was so relaxed that she was tempted to curl up right there in the grass and take a nap. Instead, she went back to leaning against the metal post and listening to her music, eyes closed, not a single care permitted in her immediate world.
Violet must have fallen asleep, however, for the next thing she knew, she was waking with a frown, the sun glaring in her eyes and turning her shady spot into a little oven. She was squinting up at the bright afternoon sunlight filtering through the bleachers when a face appeared above hers, staring down at her with trepidation.
It was Tate.
"Jesus Christ," Violet swore, sitting up and yanking her headphones off. Her heart was racing, but she just brought her knees to her chest and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?"
"Actually yes," Tate replied, looking chagrined. "I said your name a couple times, but I guess you didn't hear."
"No, I didn't," Violet said. She stared up at him and he stared down at her. After a long pause, he cleared his throat.
"Can I sit with you?"
"It's a free country," Violet replied, noncommittal. She clasped her elbows with her hands, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She watched as Tate sat down across from her, leaving a considerable distance between them. He sat crosslegged, and began pulling up blades of straggly grass from the dry turf, collecting them in his hand. He seemed absorbed with this, frowning down at the ground in concentration as the breeze made an even bigger mess of his blond curls.
"So your suspension's over?" Violet asked after a long stretch of silence.
"Yeah," Tate replied. "Woulda been longer, but I think it helped that I'm already seeing a psychiatrist."
Violet watched as Tate made a little pile of grass in front of him, sheltered from the breeze by his foot.
"My dad was pretty pissed," she said.
Tate nodded. "He said he'd keep treating me, but he doesn't want to do it at your house. We're going to go somewhere else for our sessions," he explained.
Violet scoffed. "I don't see what the point of that is, seeing as you live next door, but whatever. I guess that's his version of a compromise."
"I guess," Tate replied. He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her. "I really think your dad can help me."
Violet nodded, eyeing him. "Do you think you need help?"
"Yeah," Tate replied hesitantly. "Yeah, I think I do. Does that freak you out?"
"I'm pretty hard to freak out," Violet replied. "Anyway, who doesn't need help these days?"
"So does that mean we can be friends again?" Tate watched her, his expression inscrutable.
Violet looked at him, weighing her options. After a moment she gave a little shrug. "Sure, why not? Anyway, ever since people at school found out about the whole Leah thing, everyone steers clear of me." Tate stared at her, clearly unsure what to think about that. Violet reached out and gave him a gentle punch in the upper arm. "Jeez, lighten up. I'm fine with it. You can be, too."
Tate visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and the tension leaving his face. "Okay," he said. "Good."
They sat in silence for several minutes. Violet lit a cigarette to give her hands something to do while she watched Tate mess around with the pile of grass in front of him. Abruptly, he picked up the grass and tossed it away from them, scattering the dry blades in the breeze.
The motion caused the unbuttoned sleeve of his too-large flannel shirt to flap open, revealing a grungy gauze bandage on his wrist.
"What's that about?" Violet asked, nodding at the bandage.
Tate looked down at his arm, frowning. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and began to pick at the edge of the greying gauze.
"I've been kinda down, I guess," he said eventually, not meeting her eyes.
"It looks gross. You should probably take the bandage off, let it get some air," Violet said.
Tate pulled a Swiss army knife out of a pocket in his jeans, flipping the blade open. He slid it against his skin, under the bandage, and sliced it open with one quick movement. The gauze and tape fell away to reveal a pair of nasty cuts on his wrist.
Violet took in the ugly sight of them, and then looked up to find Tate watching her for a reaction.
"Not much scares you, huh?" Tate observed eventually, apparently finding her lack of response remarkable.
"Guess not," Violet shrugged. They regarded each other in silence for a moment, and then Violet cleared her throat. "Thanks for being there, the other night."
Tate smiled at her, a genuine smile so disarming that it was difficult to connect the boy in front of her with the boy who had attacked Leah.
In the distance, the school bell rang. Violet groaned and began shoving her things back into her bag before standing up. She shouldered her bag as Tate got to his feet.
"You want to come over and hang out tonight?" she asked.
"I don't think your dad would like that," he replied, tilting his head at her.
"Who gives a shit about him?" Violet said. "Anyway, there are plenty of places in the house where we could hang out and he wouldn't even know. Come over, or don't. I don't care."
With that, she ducked out from under the bleachers and turned to walk back towards the school for her next class. She had only been walking across the field for a few seconds when Tate caught up to her.
"I'll meet you in the basement," he said. "After your parents are asleep. Okay?"
"Whatever," she grinned, and left him standing in the middle of the field as the warning bell rang.
Author:
lindentree
Rating: M
Character(s:): Violet/Tate
Word Count: 4,121
Summary: "Nothing, not even light, can escape." A Violet/Tate AU mystery-horror murder ballad AU set in 1994.
With her dad away at a conference in Boston and her mom transparently paranoid that he was actually there screwing his ex-mistress, the following weekend was a tense one at home. If Violet had had any friends at all, she would have made a point of being out of the house. But seeing as Tate was the closest thing to a friend she had and she hadn't seen him since telling him off over a week ago, she was out of luck, and found herself confined to the house with her mom.
Her mom, whose wounded expression Violet couldn't get out of her head. Vivien was lonely and lost, anxious about her marriage and her perilous new pregnancy, and all she wanted was to reconnect with Violet. Violet understood her feelings all too well. But she couldn't stand it, how her mom had forgiven her dad so easily, how she was acting like her pregnancy was the best news ever.
Every time Violet looked at her mom lately, all she felt was contempt.
That feeling had spilled over into words, with Violet accusing Vivien of being weak, and now Vivien barely acknowledged her except in the most polite, necessary terms. Violet was sorry; her mom wasn't the one in this family who deserved her ire. But she couldn't apologise, wouldn't. So she sat alone in her room, reading and listening to music and contemplating forcing a break in the monotony with a new cut to her forearm.
Violet flipped through the book from the school library, which was now overdue. She returned for the dozenth time to the all too short blurb about her house, rereading the words yet again. It talked of the original owners; they had died in a murder-suicide after the disappearance of their infant son. It talked of the murder of some student nurses in the late '60s. It talked of the revolving door of owners and tenants, and of the "mysterious happenings" that plagued the house. But there was nothing specific, no real details, just a lot of vague bullshit. The house was strange - that much was obvious. But what was its real story?
With a disgusted snort, Violet closed the book and tossed it aside. What was the point of writing about all of these supposed horrible events in the house's history if you weren't going to report all the gory details?
The doorbell rang. Violet ignored it, knowing that if Moira had gone home for the night, her mom would answer it. The CD in her stereo spun to a stop with a soft click, and Violet rolled off the bed to change it. She flipped through her CDs and was about to put on Violent Femmes when the doorbell rang again.
Violet frowned, and popped the CD back into its case. She listened to the silence, wondering why her mom wasn't answering the door. Then there was a loud bang, followed by the sound of someone pounding on the front door.
"Mom?" she called. There was no answer, and so Violet went to her door and poked her head out into the hallway. The pounding downstairs continued, and she walked out into the hallway. The noise stopped abruptly.
"Violet? Violet! Answer me!"
Frowning, Violet went down the stairs to the landing, where she found her mom halfway up, her hand on the banister.
"What's wrong?" Violet asked, taking in Vivien's anxious expression.
"Where's the cordless?"
"Upstairs. Why, what's - "
"Go upstairs, lock yourself in your bedroom, and call 911."
"What? Mom -" but Violet was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing again.
"Now, Violet!"
Violet turned and dashed up the stairs, grabbing the cordless phone from its stand in the hallway as she made her way to her bedroom. Whoever it was out there had begun pounding on the front door again. Violet flipped the phone over and began to dial, surprised to find that her hands were shaking. The sound of her bedroom door creaking made her turn around.
There was a woman standing in the doorway.
Violet couldn't help it; she screamed. The strange young woman stepped forward, knocking the phone from her hands. It hit the floor and skittered under the bed. The woman was sallow-faced and thin, but taller than Violet and surprisingly strong as she wrapped her arms around her and dragged her from the room.
"Get the fuck off me!" Violet hissed, her fear turning to anger. She kicked her feet, catching one of the tables in the hallway and knocking it over, struggling as she tried to free her arms. But the woman was immoveable, her arms like a band as she hauled Violet down the stairs and dumped her on the living room floor.
Vivien was there too, crouched on the floor with a man standing over her, one hand pressed to a bloody wound at her hairline.
"I have money," Vivien was saying, her voice shaking. "You can have whatever you want , just - "
"They have money," the woman snickered, glancing at her companion. He scoffed.
"We'll get that later," he said. "But we don't care about money. We're here for the house."
"The house?" Vivien repeated, bewildered. "What about the house?"
"Don't you know where you're living?" the woman asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Vivien. "God, you don't even appreciate what you have! This house deserves so much better than you. It deserves to have people who understand it, who see how unique it is. That worthless people like you have it, it just makes me want to -"
"Easy, babe," the man said, reaching out and touching her arm. "We'll get to that later. I wanna check this place out. Tie them up."
The anger on the woman's face disappeared, and she grinned. She grabbed a coil of nylon rope from a duffel bag sitting at the man's feet, and began tying Vivien's hands together behind her back.
Violet watched, her mind racing to find a means of escape. When the woman finished tying Vivien's ankles together, she grabbed another piece of rope and came towards Violet. As soon as she touched Violet's forearm, Violet reached out and slapped her as hard as she could, adding a kick to the shins for good measure.
"Ow!" the girl hissed, stumbling back. "Jesus Christ! This bitch just kicked me!"
The man stepped forward and yanked Violet to her feet by her upper arm. He grabbed the back of her head, pulling her hair hard enough to make tears spring to her eyes.
"Fucking do what we say or we'll kill you right here," the man ground out.
"Fuck you!" Violet replied, grabbing at his arm to try to free herself. The man backhanded her, sending her sprawling to the floor.
"Violet!" Vivien cried.
"Come on," the man said, hauling her roughly to her feet once again. "If we can't trust you to stay here and be good, you'll just have to come with us."
They half marched and half dragged her out into the hallway.
"What do you think we should do first - the basement?" the man asked, his hands bruising Violet's arms. She grimaced, and tried to force herself to stop struggling.
"No, let's save the basement for last," the woman replied, with all the breathless happiness of a child at Disney World. The man leaned down and kissed her, heedless of Violet, who was nearly squished between them. Violet turned away as much as she could, her stomach turning.
"The second floor won't take long," the woman said after they parted and began to ascend the stairs. "I mean, hardly any murders even happened up here. There's not that much to look at. But I still want to see."
"Of course," the man replied cheerfully, giving Violet a shove to move her along up the stairs.
As they entered the upstairs hallway and began to move towards the master suite, Violet cleared her throat.
"I get it," she said, keeping her tone calm and even. "At first I figured you must be burglars, or crackheads looking for a place to crash. But I get it now. You're just weirdoes who are into murders, macabre shit like that. Is that right?"
"Shut up," the man replied, shoving her through the doorway of her parents' bedroom.
"No, I mean, I get it. I do. It's interesting, that stuff. But what's the deal, do you find places where murders have happened and... What? Set up an altar in the corner? Play with your Ouija board? Hump your skanky girlfriend?"
"Watch your mouth," the woman snapped.
The man gave Violet another push, letting her go, and she turned around to face them, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Honestly, I'm really just curious," Violet said. "Did kinky sex and writing to death row inmates get stale?"
The man glowered at her, and Violet could tell she was starting to bug him. She grinned.
"I wouldn't smile if I were -" the man began to say, but he was interrupted by a loud thump from downstairs, followed by what sounded like footsteps on the hardwood. "God damn it!" he swore, turning to the woman. "You didn't tie her tight enough! I knew one of us should have stayed down there to watch her."
"But baby," the woman whined, her face crumpling, "I want to do this with you!"
"Here," he said, pulling a handgun out of the back of his jeans and passing it to her. "Keep an eye on her. I'll go find the other one. She won't go far with her daughter in the house. Shoot her if you have to, I don't give a shit anymore."
He left the room, his feet pounding on the stairs as he went back down to the main floor. The woman turned and looked at Violet, the gun hanging limply in her hand.
"You're going to ruin everything," the woman accused, practically pouting as she glared at Violet.
"Sorry," Violet replied blandly.
They stood in a silence that bordered on comically awkward, the woman fiddling restlessly with the gun in her hand. Watching her, Violet hoped she at least had the safety on.
There was a loud crash from downstairs, and the woman's head whipped around to look out the door.
"Babe?" she cried. She didn't even stop to give Violet a cursory threat about staying put; she dashed out the door and down the stairs. Violet stood still for a moment, then followed the woman, deciding not to waste any time in seizing this opportunity to escape.
As she rounded the landing, there was a loud crack and a thump. Violet skidded to a stop to see Tate standing at the base of the stairs, a heavy paperweight from her dad's office held over his head. The woman was collapsed in a heap at his feet.
"Tate?" Violet gasped, stunned.
Tate looked up, his arms coming down to his sides. He set the paperweight down on the floor and took the stairs two at a time, stopping a step below her.
"Did they hurt you? Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes searching her face.
"N-no, I'm fine. Tate, what -"
"Violet!"
Violet looked around Tate. Vivien stood in the foyer, the fire iron clutched tightly in her hands.
"Mom!" she cried. She went quickly down the stairs, stepping over the woman at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you okay?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of her mother.
Vivien dropped the fire iron to the floor and grabbed Violet into a tight hug.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," she replied. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. What the hell happened?" she stepped away from her mom to see her better, glancing at Tate as he came down the stairs to stand a few feet from them, by the woman.
"She's out cold," Tate said, looking down at her. "Did you call the police?"
"Y-yeah," Vivien replied, anxiously running a hand through her hair and blowing out a breath. "He's out, too. I don't think I hurt him too badly, but - I mean, I don't -"
"What happened?" Violet repeated.
"Well, after they took you upstairs, I was trying to untie myself when Tate came."
"I was taking the garbage out a little while ago when I heard someone scream," Tate supplied, looking at Violet. "The lock on the back door was busted, and I got worried that someone had broken in. So I came in."
Violet nodded, looking back at Vivien, who continued.
"Tate untied me, and then we tried to lure the guy back down here, and I knocked him out while Tate hid, and then I watched him while Tate waited for her to come downstairs."
"Holy shit," Violet breathed. "Way to go, mom!"
Vivien gave her a tight smile, and then held a hand to her cheek. She was very pale. "I think I need to sit down."
"It's okay, Mrs. Harmon," Tate said in a soft, reassuring tone.
"Yeah, mom, you kicked ass!" Violet said, wrapping an arm around her waist. Vivien was trembling, her hands shaking. "Come on, I'll make you a cup of tea. Or something stronger."
Vivien nodded, and then turned to Tate. "I'm sure your mother must be wondering where you are, but... Look, I know this is probably crazy, but would you mind staying with us until the police get here?"
Tate's face lit up and he smiled. "Of course, Mrs. Harmon. It's not crazy at all."
Violet took her mother into the kitchen while Tate dragged the woman into the living room with the man and kept an eye on them. In only a few minutes, two police cars and an ambulance were in the driveway. Violet found herself repeating her story to different officers as the two assholes who broke into her house were taken away on stretchers.
It was after midnight when the last cop car left and the house was quiet again. Vivien went to call Ben, leaving Tate and Violet alone in the kitchen.
"I should probably go," Tate said, gesturing at the back door.
"Yeah, I guess," Violet replied.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine," Violet shrugged. "More worried about my mom than anything. And pretty glad that we're neighbours."
Tate nodded, looking down. "I'm just glad you're okay," he mumbled. "I don't know what I would have done if they'd hurt you."
Violet stared at the top of his downturned head and found she didn't have a reply, sarcastic or otherwise.
After a moment, Tate looked back up and gave her a nod. "See you around," he said.
"See you around," Violet echoed numbly.
Tate went out the back door, and Violet closed the door behind him, watching as he disappeared between the houses. When he was gone, she jammed a chair under the doorknob. It wasn't exactly secure, but it would have to do until the locksmith came tomorrow.
Violet left the kitchen and stood in the foyer, listening to the silence. The house was so quiet that, for a moment, it was almost as though it was holding its breath.
That night, Vivien made Violet sleep in the master bedroom with her, the fire iron resting against the night stand, and every light in the house turned on.
***
"Don't be too angry at your dad," Vivien said. She pulled the car to a halt at a stop sign, checking the intersection from behind her sunglasses. It had been a week since the break-in, and once the locks had been fixed, a security system installed, and police interviews and re-interviews endured, things had mostly gone back to normal. Or normal for the Harmons, anyway, which meant that Vivien was terrified of her own shadow while pretending not to be, Violet was treating her father to an icy protracted silence, and Ben walked around with a forced smile on his face, suggesting things like "family game night" as though a game of Monopoly would fix everything.
Violet eyed her mother for a moment, and then huffed and turned away as Vivien took a right turn, headed in the direction of Westfield High. "Why not?" she asked. "You are."
A smile quirked at the corner of Vivien's mouth. "Yes, I am. But he's my husband, and he's your father. It's different."
"Either way he's still an asshole."
"Enough," Vivien said. Her voice was tired.
"Whatever," Violet sighed, sinking lower in her seat and glaring at the houses as they passed.
They were silent for the rest of the ride, which thankfully was not long. Violet only had to endure the tense silence for another three minutes before Vivien pulled up in front of the school. She put the car in park and removed her sunglasses, turning to look at Violet.
"Sweetheart -" she began, but Violet grabbed her bag from the floor and cut her off.
"Bye," Violet said, opening the door and getting out. "Don't worry about picking me up. I'll walk home." With that, she slammed the door shut and shouldered her bag, turning in the direction of the school.
Without looking back, she walked around the side of the school, as though she was going to use one of the rear entrances. Instead she kept walking past the student parking lot, past the row of dumpsters with their congress of hovering wasps, out toward the bleachers on the far side of the football field.
The track team was out for their morning practice, running laps. Violet skirted around them, keeping her distance and ducking behind the safety of the bleachers. She breathed a sigh of relief, pleased to find no one else back there. She was alone.
Violet found a spot to sit, facing away from the school, towards the chain link fence that divided the field from the back lane. She sat cross-legged, leaning back against one of the rusted metal supports, and hauled her bag into her lap. She pulled out her walkman and put the headphones on, hitting play on the tape already inside. It was a tape she'd made herself, full of songs she'd heard on the local college radio station. Violet's last several evenings had been spent sitting next to her stereo, her finger poised over the record button, waiting for her favourite songs to be played, trying to avoid accidentally recording the DJ's intros.
She lit a cigarette and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the metal post behind her. She smoked slowly, savouring the rich tobacco and the acrid aftertaste on her tongue. By the time she stubbed her cigarette out on the bottom of her sneaker, she was so relaxed that she was tempted to curl up right there in the grass and take a nap. Instead, she went back to leaning against the metal post and listening to her music, eyes closed, not a single care permitted in her immediate world.
Violet must have fallen asleep, however, for the next thing she knew, she was waking with a frown, the sun glaring in her eyes and turning her shady spot into a little oven. She was squinting up at the bright afternoon sunlight filtering through the bleachers when a face appeared above hers, staring down at her with trepidation.
It was Tate.
"Jesus Christ," Violet swore, sitting up and yanking her headphones off. Her heart was racing, but she just brought her knees to her chest and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?"
"Actually yes," Tate replied, looking chagrined. "I said your name a couple times, but I guess you didn't hear."
"No, I didn't," Violet said. She stared up at him and he stared down at her. After a long pause, he cleared his throat.
"Can I sit with you?"
"It's a free country," Violet replied, noncommittal. She clasped her elbows with her hands, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She watched as Tate sat down across from her, leaving a considerable distance between them. He sat crosslegged, and began pulling up blades of straggly grass from the dry turf, collecting them in his hand. He seemed absorbed with this, frowning down at the ground in concentration as the breeze made an even bigger mess of his blond curls.
"So your suspension's over?" Violet asked after a long stretch of silence.
"Yeah," Tate replied. "Woulda been longer, but I think it helped that I'm already seeing a psychiatrist."
Violet watched as Tate made a little pile of grass in front of him, sheltered from the breeze by his foot.
"My dad was pretty pissed," she said.
Tate nodded. "He said he'd keep treating me, but he doesn't want to do it at your house. We're going to go somewhere else for our sessions," he explained.
Violet scoffed. "I don't see what the point of that is, seeing as you live next door, but whatever. I guess that's his version of a compromise."
"I guess," Tate replied. He was quiet for a moment, just looking at her. "I really think your dad can help me."
Violet nodded, eyeing him. "Do you think you need help?"
"Yeah," Tate replied hesitantly. "Yeah, I think I do. Does that freak you out?"
"I'm pretty hard to freak out," Violet replied. "Anyway, who doesn't need help these days?"
"So does that mean we can be friends again?" Tate watched her, his expression inscrutable.
Violet looked at him, weighing her options. After a moment she gave a little shrug. "Sure, why not? Anyway, ever since people at school found out about the whole Leah thing, everyone steers clear of me." Tate stared at her, clearly unsure what to think about that. Violet reached out and gave him a gentle punch in the upper arm. "Jeez, lighten up. I'm fine with it. You can be, too."
Tate visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and the tension leaving his face. "Okay," he said. "Good."
They sat in silence for several minutes. Violet lit a cigarette to give her hands something to do while she watched Tate mess around with the pile of grass in front of him. Abruptly, he picked up the grass and tossed it away from them, scattering the dry blades in the breeze.
The motion caused the unbuttoned sleeve of his too-large flannel shirt to flap open, revealing a grungy gauze bandage on his wrist.
"What's that about?" Violet asked, nodding at the bandage.
Tate looked down at his arm, frowning. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, and began to pick at the edge of the greying gauze.
"I've been kinda down, I guess," he said eventually, not meeting her eyes.
"It looks gross. You should probably take the bandage off, let it get some air," Violet said.
Tate pulled a Swiss army knife out of a pocket in his jeans, flipping the blade open. He slid it against his skin, under the bandage, and sliced it open with one quick movement. The gauze and tape fell away to reveal a pair of nasty cuts on his wrist.
Violet took in the ugly sight of them, and then looked up to find Tate watching her for a reaction.
"Not much scares you, huh?" Tate observed eventually, apparently finding her lack of response remarkable.
"Guess not," Violet shrugged. They regarded each other in silence for a moment, and then Violet cleared her throat. "Thanks for being there, the other night."
Tate smiled at her, a genuine smile so disarming that it was difficult to connect the boy in front of her with the boy who had attacked Leah.
In the distance, the school bell rang. Violet groaned and began shoving her things back into her bag before standing up. She shouldered her bag as Tate got to his feet.
"You want to come over and hang out tonight?" she asked.
"I don't think your dad would like that," he replied, tilting his head at her.
"Who gives a shit about him?" Violet said. "Anyway, there are plenty of places in the house where we could hang out and he wouldn't even know. Come over, or don't. I don't care."
With that, she ducked out from under the bleachers and turned to walk back towards the school for her next class. She had only been walking across the field for a few seconds when Tate caught up to her.
"I'll meet you in the basement," he said. "After your parents are asleep. Okay?"
"Whatever," she grinned, and left him standing in the middle of the field as the warning bell rang.