Violet liked to go up into the attic when she was bored or lonely or sad or felt any negative emotion. The attic was always entirely empty expect for Beau. He was so innocent and Violet craved that. He made Violet feel like nothing had ever happened. The move, the invasion, those assholes on Halloween, her mom's pregnancy, her own suicide, Hayden, her parent's death, him.

She would sit on the dusty attic floor most days rolling the red ball back and forth to possibly her only friend in the world. The house was lonely as anything and had been deserted ever since her father's death. Her parents were always caught up with their immortal newborn baby or in their rekindled love for each other. There was nobody else except for Beau or him.

"I wish you could talk" She mumbled as she rolled the ball to him again. He grunted in response and rolled the ball back "I need to speak and nobody else ever listens"

She wanted to leave the stupid Murder House. But whether she liked it or not, those walls would house her and the rest of the trapped souls that lived there forever. She longed to feel the wind in her hair or the sun on her face again. The small things that she hated about being outside when she was still alive, she yearned for now that she was dead.

"I hate being trapped in here, I want to go outside. Although you probably don't know what outside's like. It's a different world out there, Beau. It's not yours, it's not mine. The worst part is that nobody in this city knew who I was, they didn't care that I killed myself. Nobody except my parents did"

Beau grunted as if to say "That's not true"

"Well, maybe some other people but it's not like they stayed with me in this mess of an afterlife"

"Violet? You up here?" Vivien called up the ladder.

"Yeah - I'm here mom!" Violet shouted down, rolling the ball back to Beau before standing up.

"Who were you talking to, honey?" She asked, her words wrapped with worry. Worry that Violet would be talking to him. It insulted her that her mother would think she would ever dream of talking to him ever again.

"Beau"

"Beau? Who's that?"

"Why don't you come up and meet him, mom?"

-

Tate didn't have a lot of possessions in the house. When Constance moved out, she most of Tate's stuff with her. The few things he did have he kept in a small box, hidden away in the crawl space. He sat in there, surrounded by the smell of dust or more recently, death.

It was one of those days that he sat in there, he felt something other than the ever-present longing for Violet. He felt remorse, regret. When Violet killed herself, Tate left her body in there to rot. He left her skin to turn green and flies to eat away at her. Heck, he didn't even close her eyes. He loved her so much and he didn't give her a proper burial. What did that say about Tate Langdon?

He climbed down to where the body. She was still beautiful when she was rotting.

"I'm so sorry, Vi" He wept as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. He lifted her head up and buried it in his neck. He stroked her light brown hair, that was once so soft but had now grown dry "I love you. I never stopped and I never will stop"

"Such sweet words" Someone said behind him. He looked up through tears. A woman stood there, badly burnt but smiling at him.

"Who are you?" He asked as he wiped his tears. She bent down to him and put his hand on the shoulder of Violet's dead body and turned her over to look at her.

"I'm Lorraine Harvey" She smiled, running her blistered fingers down Violet's cheek.

"As in Larry Harvey?" Tate questioned as he laid his love down on the cold floor to talk to her properly.

"He was my husband but he left me for the lady next door" Lorraine recalled sadly "The night he told me that he was in love with her. I couldn't bare it so I looked myself and my daughters in their bedroom and set it alight"

"I'm sorry" He wasn't sure what he was sorry for, but it was the right thing to say. He wanted to do the right thing from now "Constance is my mother"

"That explains a lot" Lorraine replied, standing up "Same shade of blonde, same face structure. Different eyes though"

"My dad's" Tate sniffed. He looked down sadly at Violet's body and felt Lorraine looking down at her too "She hated herself. The first time I ever laid eyes on here, she was cutting her wrists. I thought...I thought that she would stop, that she would love herself a tad more because I loved her. In the end, she swallowed a load of sleeping pills. I tried to save her, you know. Put my fingers down her throat and she threw some up, not enough though. I was too scared to tell her that she was dead so I just left here to rot"

"I'm sorry" Lorraine put her hand on the crying wreck Tate had become "I have a suggestion that might make you feel better"