✧

Joey's heart pounded as he pulled up to the house, his mind racing with worry. He climbed out of the car in a rush, leaving it parked haphazardly, and sprinted through the yard, desperate to reach the front door. "Ophelia!" Joey called out, his voice tinged with concern as he swung the door open. As he selected the button to turn of the alarm system he called for his daughter again, the silence inside the house unsettling him. "Ophelia!"

Anxiety gnawed at him as he searched through the lower levels of the house, checking every room for any sign of Ophelia. When he found no trace of her, he hurriedly ascended the stairs, his steps heavy with fear. out again, his voice echoing through the empty hallway. As he reached Ophelia's room, his heart sank to find it empty. Panic surged within him, and he fumbled to retrieve his phone from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly as he dialed his dau ghost's number, praying she would answer.

Joey's heart raced with anxiety as he waited for Ophelia to pick up the phone. The sense of relief washed over him when he finally heard her voice on the other end. "Ophelia, where are you?" he asked, trying to keep his tone steady.

"I'm just hanging with friends," Ophelia confirmed, her voice carrying a hint of guilt.

"I told you not to leave," Joey replied, his concern evident in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I should have called you earlier," Ophelia apologized, aware of her mistake.

"Are you safe?" Joey inquired, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

"Yeah, I swear," Ophelia reassured him, but Joey couldn't shake off the lingering worry.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, trying to sound less anxious.

"Yeah... what happened with the guy banging on the door?" Ophelia inquired, shifting the focus away from herself.

"It was just some kids; they were playing a prank," Joey explained, grateful for the opportunity to divert her attention from the unnerving incident. The doorbell rang again, interrupting their conversation. "They're gone now... I'll see you when you get home, don't have too much fun," he said, wanting to end the call before his emotions got the better of him.

"Okay. Alright. Bye," Ophelia responded before hanging up, leaving Joey feeling unsettled and on edge. As he walked back down the steps, the doorbell rang once more, causing his heart to skip a beat. When he opened the door, his fears were confirmed as he came face to face with Hayden. Shock and panic overwhelmed him, and without thinking, he slammed the door shut, attempting to shield himself and his daughter from whatever Hayden's presence might bring.

Joey's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to comprehend how Hayden could possibly be alive after witnessing her death. His breaths became heavy and labored as he desperately tried to come up with a reasonable explanation. It dawned on him that Larry and Hayden must have been working together all along, staging her death to deceive him. Shock turned into rage, and he marched outside, fueled by anger and determination to find Hayden.

Armed with a shovel, Joey scoured his yard and surroundings, intent on locating Hayden. Suddenly, a voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see Larry standing there. The rage inside him erupted, and without hesitation, he swung the shovel, hitting Larry and causing him to collapse. Joey cast the shovel aside, grabbing Larry by his suit and pushing him into the gazebo.

"Where is she?!" Joey demanded, his grip tightening around Larry's shirt, scanning the area for any sign of Hayden.

"Who?!" Larry gasped, blood oozing from his nose.

"Hayden! I know she's out here somewhere," Joey seethed, his eyes darting around, searching for any trace of her.

"Get your hands off of me! Help!" Larry struggled to break free, but Joey's grip remained firm.

"Where is she?!"

"She's under the gazebo!"

"You're lying! There's nothing under this gazebo, and you know it. This was all staged. Why?" Joey accused, his anger boiling over.

"What are you talking about?!"

"She was at my door ten minutes ago!"

"What? Oh, shit! Was she pissed?" Larry cursed.

Joey shook Larry in frustration. "I'm pissed! All this for $1,000? I don't think so. What are you two playing at? I won't be the victim of your sick extortion. You're in this together!"

Larry chuckled despite the situation. "Oh, wow. You really don't get it, do you? Your narrow, clinical worldview doesn't let you. Buddy, you are so screwed. You know what the thing about the dead is? They got nothing left to lose!"

"Enough of this bullshit!" Joey exclaimed, releasing his hold on Larry before delivering a powerful punch to the man's face, sending him sprawling to the ground. "I want some goddamn answers!"

Larry groaned from the floor, trying to regain his composure. "Beats me."

"Tell me!" Joey yelled, grabbing Larry once more and delivering another punch.

"She could be anywhere," Larry muttered, managing to stand and wrapping his arms around Joey's legs to keep him restrained. "Probably here."

Joey struggled against Larry's grip, his anger seething. "You better watch your back. As well as your front. Because, you thought she was dangerous before..."

"Let me tell you who's dangerous. That would be me! You really want to keep going with this story, Larry?! 'Cause I'm right at the edge! And if I go over, I'm taking you with me!" Joey screamed; his voice laced with fury as he held Larry by his shoulders forcefully.

"Do it. Oh, do it now. Oh, I'm begging you. Please, kill me, Joe. Kill me," Larry pleaded, but Joey threw him backwards, his anger not enough to push him to take a life.

"That way, I can come back and haunt you, too."

"You see that crazy bitch; you tell her we're done. I'm not playing your games. You come back on this property, and I will kill you. You hear me? I will kill you."

"Promises, promises," Larry taunted as Joey turned and stormed back inside, his emotions a tumultuous whirlwind.

✧

Ophelia basked in the blissful sensation of Tate's soft kisses trailing along the side of her face, her phone momentarily forgotten as she savored the intimate moment. "Who was that?" Tate inquired between kisses, the slight hint of jealousy seeping into his voice.

"My dad," Ophelia replied, feeling a twinge of guilt for calling him sooner.

Tate's response was a nonchalant hmph before he used his hand to gently turn Ophelia's gaze towards him, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. The warmth from the fire they had made earlier and the closeness of Tate enveloped her, making her heart race with excitement. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing nearby added a therapeutic and romantic ambiance to the scene.

As their lips moved in sync, Ophelia deepened the kiss, relishing every second of their intimate connection. The softness of Tate's lips against hers sent shivers down her spine, and the scent of him washed over her like a gentle sea breeze. He guided them to lay back into the sand, hovering on top of her with a look of adoration in his eyes. Ophelia's fingers ran through his blonde hair, holding him close as their passion intensified.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in each other. Ophelia's body tingled with excitement, feeling like a swarm of butterflies had taken flight within her. The kiss felt like a beautiful symphony, with each touch and caress creating a euphoric melody.

Tate's lips moved from hers, placing sweet kisses all over her face, eliciting joyful giggles from Ophelia. In this moment, the world was perfect, and all that mattered was the overwhelming affection they had for each other. Yet, amidst the intoxicating bliss, Ophelia couldn't shake the guilty thoughts creeping into her mind. Elliot's abrupt departure after their intimate encounter weighed on her conscience. She pushed those thoughts away, deciding to immerse herself fully in this enchanting moment with Tate. She would confront her feelings and worries another day; tonight was about embracing the passion and connection she shared with Tate, allowing herself to revel in the love that enveloped them like the gentle ocean waves.

As their kisses grew more heated, Ophelia's desire for Tate intensified, and she could sense his reciprocation. However, she noticed that he seemed hesitant to push things further. While she appreciated his respect for her boundaries, she couldn't help but yearn for more. With a tender touch, Ophelia pulled away from the kiss, placing a loving hand on his cheek as she expressed her desires. "I want to."

Tate's gaze remained fixed on her, his emotions written in his eyes, but he struggled to find the right words to respond. Ophelia understood his hesitation and immediately felt a pang of insecurity, wondering if he didn't want to take their intimacy to the next level. She withdrew her hand, feeling vulnerable and uncertain. "I thought... I just..."

Tate shook his head gently, still hovering close to her face, his voice soft and sincere. "Ophelia, I swear... I want to be with you so badly. And that's never happened to me." Her heart swelled with affection, and a blush adorned her cheeks as she took in his heartfelt words. He searched her eyes, struggling to convey his feelings. "I just... I want you to understand how much I care about you. I don't ever want to make you feel like I'm using you."

Her heart softened at his concern, reassured by his honesty. She reached up to tenderly move a stray hair away from his face. "I care about you too, Tate. You could never make me feel that way." Her smile was filled with warmth and affection, her gaze unwavering. "Are you just going to leave me here if we do?"

His surprise was evident as he responded, "What? No. I would never."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," she replied, her smile growing more confident as she gazed up at him, her eyes filled with trust and adoration. Tate's smile mirrored her own, and he leaned down to kiss her again, their connection deepening as they both embraced the affection they felt for each other. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, entwined in a moment of passion and tenderness. His kisses felt hot on her skin as he trailed them away from her lips and down to her neck. His hands ran up the sides of her thighs, occasionally gripping them.

Wrapping her legs around him she could feel his growing excitement against her own. The girl playfully pressed against him causing the young man to groan into her neck. The feeling of the sand cascaded against her as Tate trailed kisses along her clavicle, letting go of her thighs to massage her breasts. A moan escaped her lips, enjoying every sensation that he was doing to her. Tate brought himself back to her lips, slipping a hand between them and down under her dress. Ophelia licked the outside of his lips as if to ask for entrance and he obliged. Gentle moans cascaded through the air as Tate began to circle her clit through her panties, feeling how damp they were making him even harder for her.

Ophelia wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the taste of his tongue in her mouth and the feeling of his fingers. Her hips moved in sync with his hand, sending waves of euphoria within her. A sudden confidence filled her being as she used her weight to flip Tate onto his back. Now straddling him, Ophelia rested her hands on his chest as she kissed him, feeling him remove his hand from her clit to massage her breasts again. As she grinded against him, they moaned into each other's kiss. Eventually, Ophelia broke away, lifting herself off of him enough to unbutton his pants. Once they were unbuttoned, she tugged down his pants enough to reveal his throbbing cock. Ophelia spat in her hand before slowly pumping her grip around it, eliciting pleasurable curses from Tate.

"Fuck." Ophelia bit down on her bottom lip at his praises as she pumped. The sight of Tate so enthralled with what she was doing practically sent her over the edge. Ophelia used her free hand to move her panties to the side before using the other to guide his cock into her. The girl rested her weight back down onto him, the feeling of him entering her sending shivers down her spine. Once she adjusted to his size, she began to move her hips expertly, enticing moans from both of them. Tate guided his hands up the sides of her thighs to grip onto her hips. He stared up at her as she fucked him, taking in her every detail and face she made before she leaned down to kiss him. The kisses were desperate as she continued to grind on him, occasionally pulling away to savor the feeling of him inside her. Her hand slipped into his hair, gently tugging it as she did so.

"Fuck I'm close." Tate whispered and Ophelia began to speed up her movements, feeling her own climax build up. Tate groaned, feeling himself reach his high. His cock pulsed inside of Ophelia, filling her up before her own orgasm rocked through her. One final whimper escaped her lips as she shook with nirvana on top of him. As they came down from their high, Ophelia tried to catch her breath before climbing off of him and flopping down into the sand. The two stayed quiet for a moment as they took in what happened. Tate reached down to pull his pants up and button them as Ophelia moved her panties back into the proper position.

Under the white hues of the moon, the two figures exchanged heartfelt sighs before turning their heads to meet each other's gaze. Ophelia's heart fluttered with a mix of hope and trepidation, haunted by the memory of Elliot's departure, yet the reassuring sight of Tate's smile eased her fears. In response, she mirrored his smile, her eyes fixated on him as he sat up, gracefully supporting his weight on his hands. Intrigued, Ophelia followed suit, her gaze unwavering as she attempted to decipher the unspoken thoughts that played across his features.

Breaking the silence, Tate found the courage to speak, his words laced with vulnerability as he glanced over to Ophelia. "You have no idea how long I've thought about that." His admission hung in the air, vulnerable and sincere.

"Oh, really?" Ophelia responded with a teasing smirk, playfully nudging his side. "Me too."

"Come here," Tate beckoned, his voice tender and inviting. Ophelia moved closer to him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. With a gentle gesture, he encircled her in a loving embrace as they stood together, gazing out into the vastness of the ocean. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore seemed to echo the rhythm of their intertwined hearts.

"I used to come here," Tate began, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "when the world closed in and everything felt so suffocatingly small, like I couldn't breathe." Ophelia listened intently, feeling the weight of his emotions. She found comfort in knowing that this place, which now held meaning for both of them, had been Tate's refuge in moments of overwhelming turmoil.

His next words carried a hint of rebellion and defiance. "I'd look out at the ocean, and I'd think... 'Yo, douche bag, school counts for jack shit.'" A surprised laugh escaped Ophelia's lips, the unexpected humor in his candid confession easing the tension in the air. She rested her head gently on his shoulder, taking solace in the warmth of his presence.

His voice grew softer yet resolute as he continued to share his sentiments, "Kurt Cobain, Quentin Tarantino, Brando, De Niro, Pacino... all high school dropouts." Tate's voice grew more passionate, and he bared his soul, revealing the disdain he held for the traditional path of schooling. "I... hated high school. I hated college even more." Ophelia felt a mixture of empathy and admiration for his candid honesty, appreciating the raw authenticity of their connection. His words struck a deeply resonant chord within Ophelia, evoking memories of her own painful journey through high school and college. The torment of bullying and the weight of her depression were relentless adversaries, but in this moment, she found strength in the shared vulnerability between them.

The ocean breeze enveloped them, carrying with it a sense of liberation and endless possibilities. Tate's voice brimmed with a renewed sense of purpose as he shared his revelation, a mantra that seemed to resonate with the very waves crashing before them. "So I'd come here, and I'd look out at this vast, limitless expanse. Then it's like, that's your life, man. You can do anything, be anything. Screw school. That's... It's just a blip in your timeline. Don't get stuck there."

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the snap of a twig behind them. Ophelia glanced over her shoulder to spot a group of people their age walking towards them. She felt an uneasy tension settle in the air as Tate and she turned their attention to the approaching strangers. As they drew nearer, Ophelia couldn't help but notice their gory makeup, a stark contrast to the serene backdrop of the ocean.

The suspense built, and Ophelia's heart quickened, uncertain of the intentions of the approaching group. "There's someone here," she whispered to Tate, their focus now entirely on the approaching figures.

The tension in the air grew palpable as the group of strangers closed in, encircling Ophelia and Tate like predators stalking their prey. Ophelia's heart pounded, unsure of their intentions. She leaned closer to Tate, whispering her concern, their senses now acutely attuned to the approaching figures.

"Nice costumes," Ophelia remarked, attempting to maintain a facade of nonchalance in the face of the unnerving situation.

Tate tried to diffuse the tension with a calm demeanor. "You know, there's a whole lot of beach, guys," he pointed out, hoping to prompt them to reconsider their approach.

However, the leader of the group, donned in a letterman's jacket, had other intentions. He taunted Tate, his words dripping with malice. "Good job, Tate. You finally came out of hiding. We've been waiting for years for you to show your face. But you like Mommy's little safe house, don't you?"

Confusion clouded Ophelia's expression as she looked back and forth between Tate and the group. Tate, equally perplexed, admitted, "I don't know you."

The girl dressed as a cheerleader chimed in, her tone laced with disdain. "You know, I'm actually surprised you had the balls to show your face around here."

"Yeah, maybe you should have worn a mask." The blonde goth girl added.

Unperturbed, Tate shrugged off their intimidation attempts, "I'm not really into Halloween."

The blonde girl, seeking to provoke further, smirked and directed her attention towards Ophelia, "But this year's different, right? You have a date." Ophelia's discomfort grew, feeling like a pawn in their twisted game. "How cute is that?"

Standing up for Ophelia, Tate found his voice, "Leave her alone." He couldn't bear to see her being subjected to their cruelty.

But the group's focus shifted, and the jock among them made his malicious intentions clear. "We don't want her," he declared, turning the spotlight back on Tate. "We want you. Actually, where's your partner in crime, Tate?"

"Yeah, where is Elliot? He's just as responsible as you." The goth girl spat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tate shook his head.

"How about we drown him?" The blonde girl suggested.

"No, we should shoot him right between the eyes." The jock suggested, motioning to the fake bullet wound on his forehead.

As their threats escalated, causing Ophelia's anger to surge. Without hesitation, she stood up, her defiance evident, and took Tate's hand, ready to protect him from any harm.

Ophelia's seething anger couldn't be contained any longer, and she lashed out, "The fuck is wrong with you guys?" Her eyes scanned the group, challenging their twisted behavior.

"Somebody please waste this bitch." The goth girl added.

"Fuck off." Ophelia spat.

The brunette among them attempted to further demean Tate. "Yeah, why does he get a girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend? Kyle, you?"

"No. I haven't had sex in a long time," Kyle admitted, seemingly unashamed of his crude remark.

Ophelia's patience wore thin, and she fired back, "Couldn't possibly be your charming personality, could it?" Her sarcasm underscored her disgust for their attitudes.

Tate's protective instincts kicked in, and he wrapped his arm around Ophelia, pulling her away from the toxic group. "Come on, let's go," he suggested, steering her clear of the confrontation. He glanced back at the group, his tone bitter, "This beach sucks. Someone should pick up the trash."

As they distanced themselves from the volatile situation, Ophelia felt a mix of anger and relief. Their encounter with the disturbing group had left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she took comfort in knowing that Tate was by her side, and they could face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

✧

Having just returned to her room, Ophelia's hand gently closed the door behind them, sealing off the outside world. The unsettling encounter with the mysterious group at the beach still weighed heavily on her mind. Tate remained strangely tight-lipped about the incident, leaving Ophelia with an overwhelming sense that there was more to the story. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she turned her attention to him, a mix of concern and frustration in her voice.

"Are you seriously going to act like nothing happened at the beach? They totally knew you, Tate. They knew Elliot." Her words held an edge, the emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

Tate attempted to reassure her, "But I don't know them."

"Why do they hate you then?" Ophelia inched closer to him, her desire to understand driving her forward.

"They... They're just assholes," Tate replied, walking over to her dresser and leaning against it, his gaze fixed on the floor. "The world's full of them. It's popular kids who get off on being mean and cruel. I thought you understood that."

Guilt washed over Ophelia as she realized she might have been too harsh in pressing him for answers. She softened her tone, sensing his anxiety. "Tate, I can tell you're freaked out."

As they attempted to process the unsettling encounter, the sounds of barking dogs outside pulled them out of their conversation. They both went over to the window, where they saw the group from the beach approaching Ophelia's house.

"It's them. They followed us here? This is messed up," Ophelia exclaimed in shock, turning her attention back to Tate. Anger began to build inside her, and without hesitation, she grabbed a pair of scissors and headed downstairs and out the side door, confronting the group.

"Oh, great, he sends his little girlfriend out," Kyle sneered, rolling his eyes as Ophelia stepped closer to them, her eyes blazing with defiance.

"With a pair of scissors. You gonna make us some paper dolls?" the goth girl taunted from her perch on the half brick wall.

Undeterred, Ophelia held her ground, asserting her rights, "This is private property. I have every right to call the cops."

"Go ahead, call them. You'll probably need them," the cheerleader retorted from behind her, provoking Ophelia further.

"Screw that. She deserves whatever happens to her," Kyle added.

Fueled by anger and determination, Ophelia didn't back down, "You guys need to take your disgusting made-up faces and go the fuck home." Her words cut through the air, challenging their audacity.

"Made-up?" the group seemed taken aback by her remark.

The cheerleader stepped away from her car and approached Ophelia, revealing a deeper layer of pain beneath her tough exterior, "Home? Where is that? I'm an only child. After what happened, my parents split up, sold the house, moved away. No forwarding address. So I don't have a home."

A flicker of sympathy crossed Ophelia's eyes as she watched the cheerleader sit down on the steps, vulnerable and hurting. "Parents suck, but I can't fix it for you."

As the tension between Ophelia and the group escalated, Kyle's bitter accusations pierced the air. He motioned toward the fake bullet wound on his head, challenging Ophelia, "Can you fix this? Can you give me back my scholarship to Georgia Tech? I'm supposed to be starting quarterback sophomore year."

The cheerleader's taunting words stung like arrows, "She doesn't care. She's in love, and she'll do anything for him." Ophelia felt the weight of their judgment and ridicule, but she refused to let their words break her resolve.

The situation took an even darker turn as Kyle lashed out, resorting to insults and name-calling. "Stupid slut," he sneered, prompting the rest of the group to circle around Ophelia menacingly. Their hostile energy was palpable, making her feel increasingly uneasy in their presence. "She's worse than he is. She thinks it's okay what they did to us," Kyle accused, his words dripping with venom.

Ophelia's patience wore thin, and she couldn't bear the suspense any longer. The sense of danger was mounting, and she grew increasingly nervous about what they were implying. "What did they do to you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with impatience and concern. She needed to know the truth, to understand the depth of their animosity and why Tate and Elliot seemed to be at the center of it all.

"She doesn't know," the cheerleader observed, revealing the painful truth.

"About what?" Ophelia asked, her confusion evident.

The boy with glasses attempted to speak, but blood spilled out instead, leaving Ophelia stunned.

"It's okay," the cheerleader comforted him as he moved away from the group.

"How have you not heard about Westfield?" Kyle inquired.

"We just moved here," Ophelia replied, shaking her head.

"Pick up a yearbook, bitch," the blonde goth girl retorted rudely.

"Or read a newspaper," the cheerleader chimed in. "We're kind of famous."

"So you're popular and you're pissed off I don't know who you are," Ophelia rolled her eyes, unimpressed by their claims.

Tensions reached a boiling point as the blonde goth girl suggested a disturbing course of action, "Let's put her down, out of her misery," getting up close and personal with Ophelia. The sense of danger escalated, and Ophelia could feel the palpable threat in the air but before she could act, Tate intervened.

"Leave her alone!" He stepped forward, positioning himself between Ophelia and the hostile group, a clear display of his protective instincts.

The grunge-looking brunette taunted Tate, his words loaded with sarcasm, "Finally, the Prodigal Son returns. Come on down, man. We've got some questions." The situation had taken on an ominous tone, and Ophelia's anxiety only intensified.

Tate turned his attention to Ophelia, urging her to go inside for her safety. "Go inside. I can handle this," he said, his voice determined, but Ophelia wasn't convinced. Ophelia couldn't bring herself to abandon him in this menacing confrontation. Her eyes locked with his, the unspoken connection between them speaking volumes.

"I seriously doubt that," the cheerleader challenged, her voice dripping with disdain.

The group closed in, their hostility palpable, and Ophelia felt torn between protecting herself and standing by Tate's side but Tate's raised voice left no room for negotiation, "Go inside!" he commanded, his tone filled with urgency and concern for her safety.

"No. They want to hurt you," Ophelia shook her head, unwilling to abandon him.

"Karma's a bitch, Tate," the cheerleader taunted further.

"You want to talk to me? Let's see how fast you can run," he challenged, before sprinting away from them, the group chasing after him. As the distance grew between them, Ophelia's heart raced, torn between staying put and going after him.

As Ophelia's distress grew, she desperately reached out for help, quickly dialing the police to report the dangerous situation with Tate. Her voice trembled with fear and urgency as she spoke into the phone, "Hello. Hey, my friend's in trouble. There's a bunch of kids chasing him. I think they're gonna kill him."

But before she could finish her plea for help, she felt a sudden grip on her from behind, startling her. Turning around, she was met with Constance, a mix of emotions swirling on her face. Constance's actions were forceful, shaking Ophelia slightly, but she seemed deeply upset about something.

"Come with me to my house now," Constance demanded, her voice tense with concern.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Struggling to process the situation and feeling overwhelmed, Ophelia tried to push Constance away, accidentally hanging up her phone in the process. The gravity of the moment escalated as Constance's words hit her like a blow.

"Addy is dead because of you!" she accused, shaking Ophelia even more. The weight of the news crushed Ophelia's heart, tears welling up in her eyes, her world thrown into turmoil.

In her emotional state, she found herself being dragged away by Constance, the older woman's actions insistent and determined. Ophelia's mind was in a whirlwind of confusion and sorrow, as she struggled to grasp the reality of what had just been revealed. With every step, she felt further away from Tate and the perilous situation he was facing. The guilt and fear gnawed at her, leaving her feeling lost and vulnerable in this unexpected turn of events.

✧

Ophelia found herself seated across from Constance in the cozy ambiance of the older woman's home, their presence accentuated by the warm glow of the dining table in the kitchen. As Constance spoke, her words weighed heavily on Ophelia's heart, and she couldn't help but let tears trickle down her cheeks.

"She longed to be a beautiful girl. But, alas, lying on that table, beneath those unforgiving, energy-efficient lights, she seemed far from it," Constance uttered, her voice tinged with sorrow. "One of the consolations of having children is the belief that our youth continues to live on in the new generation."

Constance paused, trying to steady her emotions. "They say when a parent passes away, the child confronts their own mortality. Yet, when a child departs, it's the parent's sense of immortality that shatters."

"I'm so sorry, Constance," Ophelia responded, shaking her head, her tears flowing unabated.

"You did encourage her, it's true. But your intentions were only kind, weren't they?" Constance managed a fragile smile as she poured tea into delicate cups. "I was the one who allowed her to venture out into the world tonight. And it unfolded as fate dictated."

With a gentle gesture, the older woman slid a prepared teacup toward Ophelia. "Go ahead, drink your tea, my dear."

Ophelia's gaze momentarily drifted towards the box containing Constance's cigarettes. "Can I have one of those?"

"A cigarette? Certainly," Constance acquiesced, extending the container towards her. Ophelia gingerly plucked one from the pack and nestled it between her lips. "Adelaide was a strong-willed child," Constance continued, flicking open a lighter and sparking the end of Ophelia's cigarette before adding sugar to her tea. "In truth, if she inherited anything from me, it was that. I dare say my little monster resembled me more than any of my other children."

Taking a moment to compose herself, Constance stared intently at Ophelia. "Tate is my son."

Ophelia's eyes widened in shock, and she choked on the smoke from her cigarette. "What?"

Constance shook her head. "He mustn't know about this, Ophelia. He cannot learn of his sister's passing. Not now. He doesn't... cope well with certain things. So, you... you must promise me."

Ophelia shook her head, her mind racing with a torrent of thoughts. "I don't understand."

"He's a sensitive boy, you've observed that. No thanks to that devilish person he calls a friend. Tate is a young man with emotions too profound, a soul akin to that of a poet, but lacking the grit and steel to shield himself from the horrors of this world. The steel that once protected me. The steel that Adelaide possessed. And that, I believe, you possess too," Constance murmured, searching for the right words. "That's why he's drawn to you; he yearns for your strength" Constance rose from her seat, gracefully crossing the room to a framed photograph on the nearby shelf. With gentle hands, she lifted the picture and passed it to Ophelia, urging her to take a look. "Look," she began softly, her voice carrying a mixture of sadness and concern, "Perhaps he misses his sister, but we must safeguard him, Ophelia."

As Ophelia gazed down at the photograph, her heart swelled with a torrent of emotions. In the captured moment, Tate and Addy stood side by side, their faces radiating joy and innocence. The sheer happiness they exuded seemed to contrast starkly with the current reality of Addy's absence. Tears streamed down Ophelia's cheeks, creating a kaleidoscope of emotions that she struggled to comprehend. The weight of Constance's revelation now pressed heavily upon her.

In that fleeting moment, Ophelia felt as if she were confronting a stranger - a side of Tate she had never glimpsed before. The depth of their friendship, their bond, seemed to unravel before her, leaving her with an unsettling sense of uncertainty. How could she not have known this part of Tate's life?

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, as she questioned everything she thought she understood about one of her best friends. But amid the swirling turmoil, she recognized the significance of Constance's plea. It was a reminder that the burden of protecting Tate extended beyond just preserving his memories of his sister; it involved safeguarding his emotional well-being, shielding him from unnecessary pain.

In that very moment, Ophelia resolved to be the anchor that Tate needed. She would support him, just as Elliot had supported him. No matter the secrets or revelations.

✧

Flashback

It was a chilly afternoon, and the sun was starting to set on the middle school playground. Tate and Elliot, inseparable best friends, were huddled together near the swings, their faces flushed with frustration and hurt. A group of older kids had just targeted them, throwing taunts and mean-spirited words their way.

Tate's eyes were moist with tears as he clenched his fists, trying to hold back his emotions. He felt vulnerable and small, completely defenseless against the bullies' relentless attacks. Elliot couldn't bear to see Tate like this. He knew he had to do something to help.

"Hey, Tate, don't listen to them. They're just being assholes," Elliot said firmly, trying to lend some reassurance. He put a comforting arm around Tate's shoulders and pulled him closer. "You're way better than them, and their words don't define who you are."

Tate looked up at Elliot, his eyes searching for a glimmer of hope. "But why do they keep picking on us, Eli? I don't understand."

Elliot's face softened with empathy, and he sighed. "Sometimes people like to target others just to feel powerful or important. It's not right, and it's not fair. But remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here, and I'll always stand by your side."

Tate wiped away his tears and managed a faint smile, touched by Elliot's unwavering support. "Thanks, Elliot. You're a good friend."

Elliot gave Tate's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Of course, I am. And I promise you this – no matter what happens, I'll always have your back. Nobody will ever hurt you as long as I'm around. We're in this together, alright?"

Tate nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. With Elliot beside him, he knew he could face anything that came their way. The bullies' words might sting, but they couldn't break the bond between two best friends who looked out for each other.

From that day on, Tate found strength in Elliot's unwavering friendship. Their friendship grew stronger with each passing day, and together, they navigated the challenges of middle school with their heads held high. Elliot's promise remained a beacon of hope for Tate, reminding him that he never had to face the world alone again.

✧

Tate's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, each step feeling like an eternity. Eventually, he came to a halt, bent over, and gasping for breath as the group of people caught up to him. He turned to face them, his breathing heavy. "I used to run track," Tate said between breaths, trying to find some common ground in this strange encounter.

"We know," the cheerleader replied, rolling her eyes as they closed in on him.

Frustration evident in his voice, Tate asked, "Is someone going to explain what the hell is going on?"

The blonde goth girl stepped closer, her presence intense as she asked, "Do you believe in God?"

Sarcastically, Tate responded, "Is that what this is about? You guys are with Campus Crusade." His sarcasm was short-lived as he was abruptly shoved by the goth girl, sending him stumbling into a nearby trash can.

"You asked me if I believed in God, and you put a gun to my head," she confessed, her voice revealing the weight of her painful past. "I said yes. It wasn't even true, and I said yes. And then... you pulled the trigger."

Tate's incredulity lingered, but before he could process it all, Kyle's rage exploded, delivering a punishing punch to his stomach, causing him to collapse to the ground.

"No more bullshit, Tate! You owe us an explanation!" Kyle bellowed as the group formed a circle around him.

From his hunched position on the floor, Tate tried to speak, but Kyle interrupted him with another kick. Suddenly, a new presence emerged behind the group, and Elliot stepped forward to protect his friend.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Elliot seethed, rushing to Tate's side and helping him up.

The grunge brunette sneered, "Oh, look who it is. Perfect timing."

Annoyed by their cruelty, Elliot confronted them, demanding, "Do you get off on hurting other people, or what?" He stood protectively by Tate, facing the hostile group.

The cheerleader laughed derisively, dismissing Elliot's anger, "You've got to be joking."

Kyle's rage was still palpable as he grabbed Elliot by his flannel shirt, landing a punch on his face. "Why did you target the jocks? I never did anything to you!"

The grunge brunette interjected, "It wasn't just the jocks, man. Look at me. Look at Amir." He turned to the boy with glasses. "Did you ever once go to a football game? This guy was honor roll. He could have been valedictorian." He proceeded to strike Tate, causing him to fall back, and Elliot tried to intervene but was held back by Kyle.

"No, I'm not going to change the world, okay, but he could have. He could have been something, and you ruined all that potential," the grunge brunette vented, revealing the depth of their pain.

Elliot finally pushed Kyle away, his nose bleeding, before assisting Tate onto a nearby park table.

"We want to know why. You owe us that," the cheerleader demanded angrily.

"Way more than that," the goth girl added, her emotions raw and fervent.

Tate pleaded, tears streaming down his face, while Elliot stood resolutely by his side, offering support and protection. "You got the wrong people, okay?

"We didn't do anything," Elliot asserted, wiping the blood from his nose.

"No. Don't you dare. We have been looking for you two for years," the cheerleader cried out, her anger mixed with desperation.

"They're screwing with us," Kyle stated, unable to comprehend the truth of the situation.

"Maybe they're in denial," the goth girl suggested, as if seeking to understand the motives behind their actions.

"Maybe they're psychotic," the grunge brunette chimed in, his emotions flaring.

As panic overwhelmed him, Tate's memories began to flood his mind, and in his anguish, he started hitting himself, screaming, "Get out! Get out of my head!" Elliot, too, struggled to catch his breath, tears streaming down his own cheeks as he grappled with the overwhelming emotions of the encounter.

Struggling to catch his breath, Elliot wiped tears from his cheeks as panic took hold. "We aren't in your head. We are right here," the cheerleader taunted, her words like shards of glass.

"Chloe, sun's coming up," Kyle said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Please just say it. Just say what you did. I should be 34 years old," Chloe pleaded, her tears falling as she glanced between the two boys who took part in killing her. "And married. With babies."

As Elliot tried to comprehend the chaotic situation, he could only sob in confusion, "I don't know you."

Tate, too, looked around at the group with tearful eyes, apologetic and desperate. "I'm sorry. I don't know you."

"We got to go." The goth girl walked over placing her hand on Chloe's arm, and the group slowly walked away, leaving the two boys to contemplate the haunting encounter. Sharing a profound and emotional glance, Elliot pulled Tate into a tight embrace, and together, they let their tears flow as they sought solace in each other's arms.

✧

Ophelia stood in her dimly lit bathroom, her eyes swollen and red from hours of tearful grieving over Addy's death and the unsettling events involving Tate. Feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, she walked over to the bathtub, turning the faucet on, and allowed the water to fill, adding bath salts for a touch of soothing relaxation. It was a moment she desperately needed to escape from the haunting memories that lingered in her mind.

As the tub filled, Ophelia's thoughts wandered back to happier times, like the moments she had spent with Tate on the beach, and the intimate encounters with Elliot in her room before he abruptly left her. But these fleeting memories were overshadowed by the overwhelming recent events – discovering Addy's death, the shocking revelation of her connection of being Tate's sister, and the bizarre encounter with the mysterious group of people that harassed them tonight.

With a heavy sigh, Ophelia tried to push these thoughts aside, hoping that a bath could provide a temporary respite. But just as she went to immerse herself in the warm water, her phone rang, startling her from her attempts at relaxation. She approached her phone, answering the call, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar female voice.

"Hello?" Ophelia spoke hesitantly, her brows furrowing in confusion at the unknown number.

"I think it's time for us to have a conversation," the voice on the other end stated cryptically.

"Sorry, but who is this?" Ophelia tried to discern the identity of the caller.

"Has he told you about Boston?" the voice continued, leaving Ophelia even more puzzled.

"Who?" Ophelia's confusion deepened, hoping to gain clarity.

"Your father," the voice replied, leaving Ophelia utterly taken aback.

"I think you have the wrong number," Ophelia responded, trying to dismiss the strange call.

"Ask him about Boston," the voice urged before abruptly hanging up. Ophelia stared at her phone in bewilderment, trying to make sense of the cryptic conversation before deciding to disregard it for the time being.

Returning her focus to the bath, Ophelia turned off the water, but the steam in the room made her perspire, adding to her discomfort. The Halloween costume she wore clung to her skin, and she hesitated before deciding to shed it and fully relax. However, as she turned around, a puzzling message written in the fog of the mirror caught her attention – 'ask about Boston.' The mysterious message sent a shiver down her spine, fear flooding through her before she rushed downstairs to find her father.

"Dad?" Ophelia called out, her voice filled with concern, "I think someone is in the house."

"What?" Joey said, walking out into the entryway from the kitchen and looking up at his daughter.

"I got this weird call from some girl telling me to ask my dad about Boston," Ophelia explained, shaking her head in bewilderment as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You think she's in the house?" Joey inquired, trying to gather more information.

"It was written in the fog after the phone call," Ophelia urged, convinced that it couldn't have been a coincidence.

"Where?" Joey glanced around, panic setting in.

"I didn't see her," Ophelia admitted, her nerves on edge. "I'll look around."

"Do not talk to her."

"Who is she, dad?"

"No one, no one." Joey shook his head, his demeanor suddenly guarded.

"I'm going to trigger the alarm," Ophelia stated, feeling that something was off with the whole situation.

"You seriously want ten cop cars out in front of Murder House on Halloween night? You think that's going to help us sell this place?" Joey snapped, his reaction surprising Ophelia. Something was definitely amiss, and she didn't like it. "Just wait here."

Joey returned to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, his nerves on edge as he readied himself for whatever awaited him in the basement. Descending the stairs cautiously, he called out for Hayden. As he reached the bottom, he scanned the dark corners of the basement until he found her standing in the shadows.

"I love it when you say my name," Hayden admitted, her appearance sickly and unsettling.

Joey let out a sigh, trying to maintain his composure.

"Say it again," Hayden demanded, her tone desperate.

"Hayden, you have to leave," Joey implored, shaking his head.

"Such a mean thing to do. Close the door in my face? How could you do that to the mother of your child, Joey? Come on, you remember, don't you?" Hayden inched closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Hayden, I know what this is. You can't extort me. You and that psychopath," Joey urged, grabbing her arm forcefully.

"Kiss me. I miss your mouth. I miss the way it tastes. I'm aching for you. My tongue is swollen, my lips are raw." Hayden sobbed before bending over and coughing up blood. "I'm rotting from the inside out. What's happening to me? Oh, right, a gazebo, Ben? Not even a decent headstone? A gazebo?! You thought I was gone, so you just thought you could throw me away like I didn't matter?! Like I never even existed?! Is that what you think of women, Joey? Like they're just some disposable nothings that you can sit on top of as you casually drink iced tea?"

"Stop screwing with me!" Joey grew angry. "What is this? What do you want?"

"I want your daughter to know the truth about you."

"You're sick, Hayden. You need help. Professional help." Joey pointed the knife at her.

Hayden laughed, seemingly unfazed by the threat of the knife. "A therapist, Joey? Is that what I need?"

Joey prepared to respond but was suddenly knocked out with a shovel.

"I really owe you an apology. Here goes. I'm so sorry about what I did to you. It was nothing personal..." Larry apologized, dropping the shovel on the ground gently.

"I'll deal with you later." Hayden scoffed, walking past him, her focus on Ophelia. "Right now, I need to take care of Ophelia."

"Oh, please. Let me help." Larry begged, whipping out a Zippo lighter and lighting it. "I haven't used this in ages."

✧

As Ophelia stood in the entryway of her home, the loud noises outside caught her attention, and she decided to investigate. Peeking through the back window, she was shocked to see Chad smashing pumpkins in a fit of rage. Ophelia rushed outside and confronted him, her frustration evident.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she exclaimed, trying to comprehend the situation.

Chad turned his attention to Ophelia, his anger still simmering. He angrily tossed the bat he was holding to the ground. "I'm redecorating. I'm sorry, Ophelia, I really am. But you ruined my Halloween, and now you have to pay," he seethed, grabbing a nearby pumpkin and smashing it on the ground.

"Stop it!" Ophelia yelled, feeling like her night couldn't get any worse.

"All I wanted was one night with my guy, some Halloween fun, some crafting in a house that I love and have bled for, and you ruined it, and he left. And now he's out at the bars. He's probably on his fourth unprotected blowjob," Chad complained bitterly while continuing to smash pumpkins.

"You are a psychopath. I am calling my security company," Ophelia retorted, shocked and angered by his behavior.

Chad panted, pushing his hair out of his face. "You don't get it, do you? No one can protect you now."

Chad started advancing towards her, and fear washed over Ophelia, prompting her to rush back inside and lock the door, hoping to keep him out.

"Get out of my house! Get out of my house! Get out of my house! Get out!" Chad screamed through the door as he pounded on it.

Panicked, Ophelia called out for her father, hoping he could handle the situation. However, she couldn't find him anywhere in the house. Hearing a crackling noise from the guest bathroom, she rushed to investigate and found a bath towel on fire. Quickly extinguishing the flames, she ran to her room and she hit the panic button in her nightstand then initiated a search for her father.

As she moved down the hall to find him, her phone buzzed on her bathroom floor, and she noticed a call from the unknown woman. Answering it with a mix of anger and fear, Ophelia demanded, "What did you do to him?"

The woman on the other end taunted, "I wanted to apologize. I just thought it would be a shame to let all those lovely bubbles go to waste. I'm sure your maid can deal with the ring."

Anxious to find her father and confront this woman, Ophelia pleaded, "Where are you? Tell me where you are."

"I love what you've done with this kitchen," the woman chuckled cryptically.

Frustrated and frightened, Ophelia hung up the phone and ran downstairs, only to find the same red-haired woman in her kitchen, appearing completely deranged.

"What do you want?" Ophelia questioned, trying to make sense of the situation.

"For the truth to be known, finally, and for once," the woman replied. "How well do you know your dad? What do you think he's capable of? What about murder?"

Unnerved by the woman's unsettling demeanor, Ophelia crossed her arms and shook her head. "If you're trying to shock me, it's not going to work. Get out of my house."

"Not until you know. Not until you understand, really understand who it is you're living with. That's all I want, Ophelia... for you to know the truth. That's why we have to talk about Boston, about the pregnancy, about everything."

"You're pregnant?" Ophelia inquired, trying to grasp the revelation. "With my dad's baby? So, the fuck what, dude. Why is it my problem?"

The woman's expression changed, and a realization seemed to hit her. "I get it now. He's never going to love me or our child if you're around." The woman walked closer to the island and grabbed a knife. "He already has you."

✧

Joey's head throbbed as he slowly regained consciousness, realizing his hands were tied behind his back. He blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the blurry figure of a blonde woman hovering over him.

"You're a disgrace. Is that all the fight you have left in you? How can you allow that ghoul to take the only thing that gives your pathetic life any meaning at all? Hold still." The woman's voice was filled with contempt as she moved behind him, deftly untying the ropes that bound him. Joey couldn't help but wonder if he was hallucinating, but the inexplicable untying of the ropes made him doubt that explanation.

"I will not permit another failure in this house," the woman hissed, hovering over his ear before whispering, "Save her. She can't die yet." With that cryptic demand, the woman vanished, leaving Joey to grapple with the reality of what was happening.

Shaking off his bewilderment, Joey forced himself to get up from the ground and hurriedly ascended the stairs of the basement. He followed the voices coming from the kitchen, his heart pounding with fear and determination. As he entered the kitchen, his worst fears were realized - Hayden was holding his daughter with a knife pressed against her neck.

"No! Hayden, no!" Joey called out, his voice filled with panic as he cautiously approached them.

"Ask him about Boston! Ask him!" Hayden urged Ophelia, still holding the knife threateningly.

"Tell me about Boston, Dad!" Ophelia pleaded, her tear-streaked face filled with terror.

"Tell her! Tell her!" Hayden demanded, her grip on the knife growing tighter.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joey finally decided to reveal the painful truth. "I lied to you, Ophelia. I didn't go to Boston to be with a patient. I went there to be with Hayden. She needed me."

Ophelia's world seemed to shatter before her as she struggled against Hayden, her mind trying to comprehend the revelation. "That's what this is all about? I don't understand."

"Tell her everything, Joey," Hayden taunted, her hold on the knife causing a small cut on Ophelia's neck, blood slowly trickling down.

Joey's voice trembled as he continued, his heart heavy with guilt and remorse. "When your mother had an affair... it was because of me. I cheated first. With Hayden."

Ophelia's shock turned into anger and hurt. "What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the pain was evident in her eyes.

Hayden seemed to revel in the chaos she had caused. She pulled the knife away from Ophelia's neck and turned to face Joey, her expression filled with bitterness and resentment. "Your mom found out and I begged her to stay. Showed her this house so we could have a fresh start, and then she died. Derek blew up on me, told me everything."

"How could you?" Ophelia's voice trembled with emotion, unable to comprehend the depth of her father's betrayal.

"I'm so sorry," Joey cried, his tears adding to the turmoil in the room. "It's all my fault."

As the weight of the truth settled on Ophelia, she couldn't contain her overwhelming emotions. "You're right. It is. You made me think she was this horrible person. I hated her. She's dead. And I hated her! Oh my god." The floodgates of grief and confusion opened, and she couldn't control her sobs.

In the midst of this emotional storm, Luke Maxcy entered the kitchen, holding a gun and aiming it at Hayden. "Ms. Bishop?" he called out.

"Yes!" Ophelia managed to respond, her voice choked with tears and anguish.

"You activated the panic button?" Luke inquired, his focus on the intruder.

"Yes," Ophelia confirmed, her breaths coming in short gasps.

"She's the intruder?"

Ophelia nodded, feeling as though her lungs were tightening with every passing second, the weight of the truth and the danger of the situation suffocating her.

✧