✧

The gentle purr of the car engine filled the Bishops' ears as they embarked on their journey to their potential new home. Low-volume music played, providing a calming backdrop to Ophelia's racing thoughts. Her father, Joey, diligently followed the GPS instructions, guiding them to their destination. The car ride remained quiet, and Ophelia found herself lost in contemplation, her forehead resting against the cool car window. She watched as the passing trees and cityscape blurred in her vision, lost in her own world of introspection.

Absentmindedly, she flicked a rubber band on her wrist, a coping mechanism for the negative thoughts plaguing her mind. The weight of leaving her old house and friends behind for college was overwhelming. Starting a new chapter felt like an insurmountable challenge; she lacked the energy and enthusiasm for it. Even getting out of bed that morning had felt like a miracle.

As they crossed over the majestic Golden Gate Bridge, breaking the silence, her father finally spoke, "Isn't it beautiful?" Joey admired the breathtaking scenery, stealing a brief glance at his daughter.

Ophelia lifted her head off the glass, taking in the scenic view before forcing a smile. "Yeah, it is," she replied, though her mind remained preoccupied with worries. "It's so green compared to Vegas... I wonder how many people have jumped off this thing," Ophelia mused, her thoughts drifting to darker aspects of the iconic landmark.

"That's dark," Joey chuckled lightly at her morbid curiosity.

Ophelia shrugged, returning her attention to the lush greenery surrounding them. The sight of so much nature and vegetation was refreshing compared to the desert she grew up in. The car continued in silence for a while longer before eventually pulling into the driveway of the prospective house. It appeared improved since their last visit, with fresh paint, new shutters, and gutters. Although there were still some broken windows, those could be addressed in due time.

Her eyes caught sight of the "In Escrow" sign on the lawn as their car came to a stop. "This is it," Joey exhaled, pulling his keys out of the ignition and turning to his daughter. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Ophelia nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her heart. Marcy, the realtor, greeted them with a friendly wave from the porch. The two of them climbed out of the car and approached her. Small talk flowed between the realtor and her father as Marcy unlocked the front door, holding it open for them to enter. The house was undoubtedly beautiful, but Ophelia felt a mix of intrigue and uncertainty swirling within her. The energy of the place seemed to wash over her, and as a superstitious person since childhood, a shiver ran up her spine. She shook off the eerie feeling, though the house still gave her the heebie-jeebies.

"It's the finest Queen Anne on the market. Venetian chandeliers, original moldings. The stained glass is some of the only of its kind that survived the great quake," Marcy explained, proudly pointing out the house's remarkable features.

"Gay?" Ophelia asked, glancing around at the interior with a hint of curiosity.

"Sweetheart, it's San Francisco; they're all gay," Marcy replied with a playful grin, eliciting an eye roll from Ophelia. Joey noticed the interaction and had to suppress a laugh.

Moving through the house, Marcy guided them into the kitchen, and Ophelia took in the original features with some modern updates. "Do you cook?" she inquired, directing her question to Joey.

"Opie here is a great cook. I got her cooking lessons a few years ago for her birthday, and she ended up teaching the teacher a few things," Joey said, patting his daughter's shoulder with pride.

"Cooking lessons. Nice. And you're a psychologist?" Marcy continued her inquisitive line of conversation.

"Psychiatrist. You mentioned something on the phone about there being a study upstairs that I could use as a home office? I'm planning on seeing patients here so I can spend more time with my daughter," Joey explained his intentions for the space.

"How refreshing," Marcy commented, and Ophelia couldn't help but shake her head with a smile, feeling a sense of pride in her father's dedication.

The trio moved from the kitchen to a stunning gothic library. "This is my favorite room in the whole house," Marcy declared, and Ophelia's eyes were drawn to some peeling wallpaper.

Her curiosity piqued, Ophelia approached the wallpaper and gently pulled back a small peeling of seagrass design, revealing a glimpse of an original mural hidden beneath. "I think there's a mural under here," she pointed out, her excitement growing.

"The last owners must have covered it up. They were modernists," Marcy explained, though she seemed hesitant as she prepared to share something important. "Speaking of the last owners, full disclosure requires me to tell you about what happened to them."

Ophelia and her father turned their attention to the realtor, their interest piqued. "That doesn't sound good," Ophelia sighed, bracing herself for unsettling news.

"Oh, God, one of them didn't die in here, did they?" Joey chimed in, concern in his voice.

"Yes, actually. Both of them," Marcy disclosed bluntly, causing the two to look at each other in shock. "Murder-suicide. I sold them the house, too. They were just the sweetest couple. You never know, I guess."

"So that's why it's half the price of every other house in the neighborhood," Joey recalled, his enthusiasm wavering as he reconsidered their decision.

"I have a very nice painted lady not too far from here, but you're going to get a third of the house for twice the price if you go that way," Marcy offered an alternative.

Ophelia pursed her lips, letting out a long sigh. "Where did it happen?"

"The basement," Marcy answered, and Ophelia exchanged a contemplative glance with her father. "Honestly, I think it's our best option, Dad. Who cares if there are a couple of ghosts running around?" she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Joey took one more long look around the room before finally nodding his head in agreement. "We'll take it."

✧

Ophelia strolled around the spacious room she now claimed as her own, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of their new home. Compared to her room back in Vegas, it was much more generous in size and had a lovely view from the window where she observed the movers unloading the last of their furniture and boxes. She noticed Marcy taking down the "in escrow" sign and replacing it with one that proudly proclaimed "sold." Ophelia let out a contented sigh, leaning on the windowsill as her mind brimmed with ideas on how she would decorate and make this room her own.

As the sun began to set, fatigue settled in, and she decided to take a break from unpacking. A knock on the door startled her, and her father appeared in the doorway. "Hey, kiddo. I'm gonna head to bed. Just wanted to check up on you before I do," Joey said gently.

"I'm good, just trying to plan out where I'm going to put everything." Ophelia replied, grateful for her father's concern. Joey walked over and enveloped her in a warm hug, the familiar comfort of his embrace grounding her amidst the new surroundings.

"I know there's been a lot of change in the past few months. Thank you for taking it so well," he expressed gratefully.

"Not like I have a choice, but... no problem." Ophelia responded, appreciating her father's acknowledgment of the upheaval they had both experienced. As he left her to her thoughts, she wished him a goodnight, and he reciprocated with a loving smile and a gentle kiss on her head.

With the night creeping in, Ophelia felt an old familiar urge and reached for a teal pack of cigarettes from her bag. She descended the stairs, leaving some lights on to navigate through the unsettling new house. Ever since they moved in, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, sending shivers down her spine. Outside on the porch steps, she lit her cigarette and took a deep drag, finding temporary solace in the smoke. Across the gate, she spotted an elegant older woman walking her dog while indulging in her own cigarette. The woman seemed captivating to Ophelia as she watched her disappear into her home.

Once she finished smoking, Ophelia extinguished the butt and flicked it into the yard, then retreated back inside. The house's creaks and shadows continued to unnerve her, but she shook off the unease, attributing it to her imagination. Back in her room, she undressed and tossed her clothes into a laundry basket, then rummaged through a box labeled "clothing" to find something comfortable for bedtime. With her room still brightly lit, she climbed into her bed, staring at the ceiling, and let sleep gradually embrace her, offering a temporary escape from the haunting presence of their new home.

✧

Ophelia meandered through the Westfield college campus, a cigarette dangling from her fingers as she scrutinized her class schedule. Lost in her thoughts, she absently glanced around, attempting to locate the correct hallway numbers, when a sudden outburst disrupted her focus. A group of three girls confronted her, their disapproval evident.

"Hey! Student council passed a rule against smoking in public spaces!" one of them shouted.

"Secondhand smoke kills," another girl added, disapprovingly.

Ophelia quickly dropped the cigarette on the floor and extinguished it with her shoe, trying to defuse the situation. "My bad, I didn't know."

"What the hell is the matter with you? People sit here. They eat here," another girl chastised her.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, irritated by the encounter. "Damn, it's not a big deal, chill out. It's a college campus, not a high school."

"Leah's grandma died of lung cancer. She takes this stuff pretty seriously," one of the girls explained, pointing to the apparent leader named Leah.

"That's my problem, why exactly?" Ophelia retorted, unimpressed by Leah's emotional attachment to the issue. In response, Leah grew more heated and picked up the discarded cigarette butt from the ground, holding it out threateningly.

"Eat it," Leah demanded, her anger escalating. "Or I'm going to kick the shit out of you."

"What are you, in middle school? Please kindly fuck off," Ophelia scoffed at Leah's immaturity, refusing to back down.

"Come on, Leah, that's enough," one of Leah's friends intervened, trying to defuse the tension. Ignoring her friend's pleas, Leah persisted, attempting to force the cigarette butt into Ophelia's mouth. However, Ophelia resisted and retaliated, shoving Leah to the floor, leaving the other girls stunned, at first before their laughter echoed across the quad.

"Don't fucking touch me," Ophelia seethed, her anger palpable as she walked away from the girls.

"You're dead! DEAD!" Leah screamed after her, but Ophelia merely turned back, walking backward, and defiantly flipped her off before disappearing from sight.

✧

Ophelia dropped her bag on the floor before entering her house after a long day of school. She made her way through the house and into the kitchen, grabbing herself a glass of water and taking a drink. Joey walked into the kitchen, greeted by the sight of his daughter.

"How was your first day?" Joey asked, leaning on the kitchen counter.

Ophelia placed her now empty glass on the island. "Shit."

"First days are always shit," he reassured. "It'll get better."

Ophelia hummed in response, silence filling the area around them.

"Hey, do you mind starting to peel the wallpaper off the walls in the library? I have my first client coming in today, so I don't have time to do it right now."

"Yeah, no problem," Ophelia nodded, crossing her arms in the process. The wallpaper was ugly anyway, and she was dying to see what was underneath.

"I'll be able to take over for you in a while."

"No worries, I got it," Ophelia forced a smile, grabbing a bowl and filling it with water to make it easier to remove the wallpaper.

"There's a scraping tool and knife in that drawer over there," her father pointed in the direction of the tools, and Ophelia grabbed them. She then reached for the bowl of water before heading to the library. She placed the bowl and tools down on an end table before walking over to the record player. Squatting down, she looked through the records before finally deciding on one. She pulled it out of its cover, stood up, and placed it on the record player. Dropping the needle down, music filled the room around her. Ophelia placed her hands on her hips, staring at just how much wallpaper she'd have to remove before heading to the spot that she had ripped open earlier.

She started to get to work, carefully removing pieces of the seagrass wallpaper. As she peeled off more, she saw an image of a woman, her face in pain, and her body looking twisted and tortured. Ophelia stared at it for a moment before feeling a hand touch her shoulder. She jumped up in surprise, dropping the scraper in the process. Turning around, she saw a girl with Down Syndrome.

"You're going to die in here," the girl said bluntly. Ophelia's heart sank in her chest, as if this place couldn't get any scarier.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Ophelia questioned, completely freaked out by the intruder.

"Adelaide!" An older woman scolded, entering the library from the kitchen, holding a box before grabbing onto Adelaide. Ophelia recognized her as the woman from last night who was walking her dog. "Adelaide, I put that 'Dora the Explorer' on for you so you would sit and watch it."

"It was 'Go Diego Go.' I don't like it," Adelaide whined, leaving Ophelia still in shock by the sudden uninvited guests in her home.

"Brown cartoon characters -- you can't tell the difference," The older woman waved her off, her southern twang thick. Ophelia scoffed at the comment, not knowing what to make of anything that was going on right now.

"Um, excuse me?" Ophelia chimed in, causing the two impolite people to look at her.

"Hi. Hi. I'm Constance, your neighbor from next door," Constance said, placing a hand on Adelaide's back. "And this is my girl, Adelaide." Turning her attention back to her daughter, she motioned for her to leave. "Go home, Addy. Now!"

Adelaide stormed out, and Constance spoke again, "That girl is a monster. I love her, and I'm a good Christian, but Jesus H. Christ, if they'd invented some of those tests a few years earlier..."

Ophelia frowned at the horrible words the woman was saying about her daughter, watching her pace around the room. "How did you get into my house?"

"You left your back door open, though I have to warn you, Addy seems to always find a way in. She's got a bug up her ass for this place, always has. You got a dog?"

"Oh, no, we don't," Ophelia answered, shaking her head.

"Well, if you ever do, I run a little kennel out of my house. Doggy daycare kind of thing... Well, I prefer purebreds. I adore the beauty of a long line," Constance elaborated, snooping through the decorations in the library. "But there's always room in my home for mongrels." She chuckled.

"Are you southern?" Ophelia asked, trying to be polite during their conversation.

"Proud Virginian," Constance rubbed her hands together. "The Old Dominion, born and bred... thank you for noticing. I came out here to be a movie star. Did the screen tests and everything... but nudity was the big deal then." The older woman sat down in a chair, crossing her leg over the other in a proper manner. "The morals were just beginning to collapse, and I wasn't about to have my green pasture flashed 70 feet high for every man, woman, and child to see. So, I took that little butterfly of a dream and put it in a jar on the shelf, and, uh, soon after became the mongoloid, and, of course, I couldn't work after that."

Ophelia nodded her head slowly, forcing her lips together in a straight line. "Um, I really gotta get back to taking down this wallpaper... but it was nice to meet you."

"I'm gone," Constance motioned with her hand before getting up from her seat and walking over the box she had placed down. "Oh, I brought you this, you know, a little housewarming."

"Oh, thank you." Ophelia walked over to the older woman, reaching out to take the box from her, but Constance pulled it away.

"Addy wanted to bake you a pie, but she tends to spit in the cooking, so I thought this would be better -- help you get rid of some of that bad ju-ju," Constance went on before handing her the box. "I can't remember your name."

"You didn't ask," Ophelia said bluntly, taking the housewarming gift from the southern woman. "Ophelia Bishop."

"Anyway, relax and enjoy. Let me know if you need help if you ever get a dog," Constance cut off, glancing around the room, then back to Ophelia. "Glad you're getting rid of that wallpaper. Thought those people were supposed to be stylish."

Constance made her way to the front door, and all Ophelia could do was laugh at the situation that had just occurred. She then followed Constance out, opening the box to see the contents inside. The older woman glanced back at Ophelia before speaking again. "It's Sage. For cleansing the... spirits in the house. Too many bad memories in here." Ophelia looked up at Constance, watching her leave for good this time before looking back down at the box. She knew what sage was. Her mother was big into witchy stuff like this. A chill ran down the girl's spine, even the neighbors knew how weird this place was.

✧

Ophelia managed to remove most of the wallpaper, her mind always wandering back to how absolutely creepy this house is. She grabbed the sage Constance had gifted her and lit it with the lighter she usually kept smooshed into her bra. Smoke began to rise, the familiar scent filling her nostrils. Her anxiety was soothed quickly as she walked through the house, smudging as she went. She wasn't entirely sure she bought into the whole 'cleansing the spirits' thing, but it brought her comfort.

Venturing into the upstairs hallway, a part of the house she hadn't explored much, she noticed the walls were bare, lacking any decoration, with empty boxes scattered at one end. Suddenly, the sage went out, and she pursed her lips to the side, finding it weird. Her attention was drawn to a draft coming from the attic door in the ceiling.

Setting down the sage on a nearby table, Ophelia grabbed a chair to stand on. She climbed onto the chair and pulled at the drawstring attached to the attic door, opening it. Stairs extended out, and she pushed the chair to the side before carefully ascending the stairs. Once she reached the attic, she stood up completely, wiping off any dust from her hands. It was completely dark, so she couldn't see much.

Ophelia reached for a string and pulled it, flooding the room with light, only to be met with the figure of a black rubber man. Screams echoed throughout the house as she fell backward in fear, her heart racing. However, upon closer inspection, she realized the figure wasn't moving. She began to laugh at herself. Must have been something that belonged to the previous owners.

Her father rushed up the stairs into the attic, ready to fight whatever had made his daughter scream. "Is everything okay? I heard you scream. What happened?" Joey sounded breathless as he spoke.

"Yeah, yeah," Ophelia waved him off, still smiling at herself for getting so scared. Joey extended a hand to her and helped her up. She pointed to the hanging rubber suit. "Those guys must have been into some kinky stuff."

Joey tried to catch his breath before laughing himself. "I'll get rid of it. Go ahead and go downstairs."

✧

Joey sits in his office with one of his new patients, Tate. Having gone to Yale and obtained his certifications, he was quite the psychiatrist. The atmosphere in the room was tense as Joey delved into Tate's thoughts and experiences.

"So, Tate, these fantasies started two years ago? Three years ago? When?" Joey inquired.

"Two years ago," Tate replied from his criss-crossed position on the couch across from the doctor. "It's always the same. It starts the same way."

"How? Tell me."

"I prepare for the noble war," Tate smirks. "I'm calm. I know the secret. I know what's coming, and I know no one can stop me, including myself."

"Do you target people who have been mean to you or unkind?"

"I kill people I like," Tate said bluntly, and silence filled the room for a moment. "Some of them beg for their life. I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in. It's a filthy goddamn, helpless world. And, honestly, I feel like I'm helping to take them away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that run in the streets. I'm helping to take them somewhere clean... and kind. There's something about all that blood, man... I drown in it."

A few moments passed before Tate spoke again, delving into his thoughts further.

"The Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits. Once a month in ceremonies, they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free. There's something smart about that. Very smart. I like that."

Tate glanced up, seemingly visualizing himself covered in blood, before turning his attention back to Dr. Bishop. "You think I'm crazy?"

"No," Joey answered calmly. "I think you're creative, and I think you have a lot of pain that you're not dealing with."

"My mother is probably worried about me, right?"

"I'm sure she is."

"She's a cocksucker... I mean, literally a cocksucker. She used to suck the guy next door all the time. My dad found out, and he left. He left me alone with a cocksucker. Can you imagine? How sick is that?"

"I've heard a lot worse," Joey replied, attempting to maintain a neutral and empathetic stance.

"Cool." Tate leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on his knees. "Can you tell me some? I like stories."

"No, I can't."

"The world is a filthy place, Joey. Can I call you that?"

"You can call me Dr. Bishop."

Tate stared at Joey before continuing. "It's a filthy, goddamn, horror show. There's so much pain, you know? There's so much."

✧

Ophelia had just returned from another rough day at college. It seemed that things hadn't changed much from her high school days. Dropping her bag in its usual spot, she scanned the house for her father. Voices emanated from his study, suggesting he was busy with a client. Emotions ran high, and all she wanted was a moment to let her tears flow. Those girls at school wouldn't leave her alone, and Ophelia couldn't catch a break. Feeling overwhelmed, she pulled up her sleeve, revealing self-inflicted scars that adorned her wrist. Most of them were healed, but some were still fresh. The familiar urge tugged at her mind, seeking the release she had grown accustomed to.

Contemplating her decision for a moment, she made up her mind. She climbed the stairs and passed through her father's room into his bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, she took what she needed out of the box of razor blades he used for shaving and left the rest in the drawer under the sink before heading into her own bathroom. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she noticed her long, slightly tangled blonde hair, and her green eyes, now red from crying all day in the school bathroom stall. Tears threatened to resurface, burning in her eyes. She rolled up her right sleeve and looked at her skin for a while before finally dragging the blade horizontally across it. A tear escaped, falling onto her cheek as she watched the blood pour out and drip into the sink.

As fucked up as it felt, seeing her own blood strangely provided some comfort. The color was beautiful, and the sight of it had an odd soothing effect. Ophelia let out a long breath before making another cut.

"You're doing it wrong."

The sudden voice startled Ophelia, causing her to drop the razor into the sink. She looked into the mirror's reflection to see who it was. A boy around her age, with curly blonde hair, stood in the doorway. He wore a green and black striped sweater.

"If you're trying to kill yourself, cut vertically. They can't stitch that up," he continued, causing her to turn and face him.

"What are you doing here?" Ophelia seethed, trying to hide her still bleeding arm behind her.

"If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door," the boy ignored her question and smiled sweetly, shutting the door.

Ophelia let out a breath of relief, her heart racing from being caught. A million thoughts flooded her mind, and she didn't know how to process the interaction with the boy. She couldn't help but acknowledge that he was cute. He must be one of her father's patients; there was no other explanation for why he would be in her home. Ophelia turned on the faucet, attempting to clean the blood out of the sink. She rinsed her fresh wounds under the water and used some nearby toilet paper to wipe away any leftover dried blood from her skin. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her sleeves down and left the bathroom.

✧

Golden light from the sun beat down on Joey's skin. It was peaceful, and the breeze felt wonderful against the sweat forming on him. Joey, hanging bedsheets on a clothesline in the backyard, was approached by a woman in her sixties.

"Can I help you?" Joey asked, his eyebrows knitted together at the presence of the older woman.

"I'm Moira O'Hara. I'm the housekeeper." Moira introduced herself, walking towards Joey.

"Hm, I didn't know the house came with a housekeeper." Joey chuckled nervously, glancing around him due to the awkwardness.

"Why are you hanging your sheets? Perfectly good electric dryer inside." Moira questioned, motioning toward the house.

"I don't like all those chemicals in the fabric softener, so I just do it naturally." Joey shrugged.

"I work Monday through Thursday. Thanksgiving on, Christmas off."

"Um..."

"That was the deal with the last owners."

"I'm sorry, I just don't think we're going to need a housekeeper."

Moira forced a smile. "What have you been using to clean the floorboards?"

"Murphy's Oil Soap." Joey answered, crossing his arms.

"Oh, no." Moira shook her head. "White vinegar. Oil soap kills the wood."

"I like that better; it's more natural."

"Have you ever owned a house this old before?"

"No, no, I haven't." Joey shook his head. This woman was really trying, and honestly, he was about to give in.

"It has a personality... feelings. Mistreat it, and you'll regret it." Moira explained. "May I come in? My cabs left, and I'd like to call another."

"Um, yeah. Come on in. I'll make us some tea while you wait," Joey motioned toward the house before leading the way inside through the back door.

"Do you have any kids?" Moira asked as she followed him into the kitchen.

"Yeah, just one. She's not so much a kid anymore, but she'll always be my baby," Joey nodded, going to the cupboard to pull out two tea cups. "She's at college right now."

"And your wife? Where is she?" Moira asked, staring at the man as he put on the tea kettle. Joey glanced back at the woman, pulling out some Earl Grey tea bags.

"She, uh, she passed away a few months ago," Joey voiced sadly, placing the tea bags in each of the cups and setting them on the island. "Drunk driver."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr...?"

"Dr. Bishop," Joey answered, staring at her for a moment, the sound of the tea pot squealing bringing him back to his thoughts. "It's quite alright." Joey walked over to the kettle, picking it up, and pouring the hot water into the cups. "So, you worked for the previous owners?"

"I've been the housekeeper here for years. They come; they go. I stay," Moira nodded while Joey placed the kettle back onto the stove. "They were both nice boys, the ones before you... I found the bodies."

Joey's heart sank into his chest at her words before walking back over to the island where she was sitting and handing her a cup of tea. "What happened? I mean, I hate to gossip but."

"They fought a lot. Money, I think. But who can know when something so horrible happens?" Moira reached across the island, taking the cup from him. "Sometimes people just go mad."

The two stared at each other, silence seeming so loud before Moira continued. "I cleaned up the mess. You'd never know."

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Joey asked, the two taking sips of their tea, Moira nodding. "Do you ever get tired of cleaning up other people's messes?"

"I'm a woman. It's what we do," she said simply. "I just get paid for it."

Joey nodded his head slowly, noticing his daughter come home and enter the room. "Oh, hey, this is my daughter, Ophelia." The young girl turned to notice the red-haired older woman sitting at the island and waved. "Opie, this is Moira O'Hara. She was the housekeeper for the previous owners."

"Nice to meet you," Ophelia smiled at her, placing her bag on the island. A car horn rang through the house from the front yard.

"You as well," Moira smiled back at her before getting up from her seat. "That's my cab. I'll use the lavatory first, if you don't mind."

"You wanna hire her?" Ophelia questioned. She wouldn't mind having someone in the house to help clean.

"Well, yeah, I mean, she's a little kooky, but she seems trustworthy. She knows the house really well; I feel like we could use the help. It's a big house to keep up with for it just being us."

"I don't mind." Ophelia shrugged as Moira came back into the kitchen.

Joey turned to face her, the older woman slipping on her jacket. "So, can you start tomorrow?"

"Thursday's better, but I'll make it work." Moira nodded.

"And, Moira, you don't have to wear the housekeeper's uniform; you can wear your own clothes." Joey suggested, wanting her to feel more comfortable if she's going to be taking care of their house.

"I don't like cleaning other people's houses in my own clothes." The older woman said bluntly before walking out of the kitchen and leaving the house.

"Weird." Ophelia sucked on her teeth, walking over to the cupboard and pulling down a glass to fill it with water.

"I've got a patient coming soon; I'm gonna go get cleaned up." Joey placed his cup on the island, noticing he was still covered in sweat, and stood up.

"Okie dokey." She nodded, taking a sip of water. "I'll finish up removing the wallpaper when I'm done with my homework."

"School any better today?"

All Ophelia replied with was a playful scoff.

✧

Ophelia, enticed by her usual bedtime smoke, gracefully descended the stairs of her house. The faint scent of gas tingled her curiosity, compelling her to investigate. To her surprise, she found her father, Joey, standing in front of the fireplace, his hand dangerously hovering over the dancing flames.

"Dad, oh my god. What are you doing?" Ophelia hurried toward her father, gently pulling his hand away from the heat.

Joey, looking disoriented, turned towards his daughter. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, no, I think you're sleepwalking." Ophelia shook her head, concern etched on her face. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Joey nodded slowly, and Ophelia firmly grasped his arm with her left hand, while her right hand rested gently on his back as she guided him back upstairs and into bed. A worried sigh escaped her lips as she watched her father slip back into a deep slumber. Shaking off her anxious thoughts, she descended the stairs once more and stepped out onto the porch. The air was brisk, and the moon cast its ethereal glow over the dark surroundings.

Folding herself onto the porch steps, she extracted a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease. The smoke spiraled from her lips as she relaxed into the tranquility of the night. Suddenly, a rustling noise emanated from one of the bushes in her yard.

"Who's there?" Ophelia remained still, hoping it was just her imagination. However, her heart skipped a beat when a figure emerged from the darkness.

"Hey, shit, sorry." The figure admitted, approaching her cautiously. As he stepped into the light, Ophelia took in his features—a boy with dark curly brown hair and glasses. She couldn't help but think he was kind of cute, though she was usually uncomfortable with random strangers on her property.

"May I?" The boy asked, motioning towards her pack of cigarettes.

Momentarily perplexed, Ophelia then realized what he was referring to and glanced down at her pack before offering it to him. "Oh, yeah, sure."

"Thanks." The boy flashed her a warm smile as he took a cigarette from the pack she held out to him. As he lit it with a lighter from his pocket, Ophelia placed the box back next to her.

They both took a deep drag from their cigarettes before the boy spoke again, breaking the silence, "So, what's your name?"

Ophelia considered whether to share her name with this stranger but ultimately decided to do so. "Ophelia."

"Like the chick from Hamlet?"

"Yup," Ophelia nodded, bringing her cigarette to her lips again, exhaling a plume of smoke. "And you?"

"Elliot," he replied, taking a hit of his own cigarette. "How old are you?"

Arching an eyebrow, Ophelia wondered why this boy was asking so many questions, but something about him intrigued her. "Eighteen."

"Me too." Elliot motioned to the spot next to her. "Mind if I sit?"

Taking a moment to weigh her options, Ophelia patted the spot next to her, inviting him to join her. As Elliot settled down, they both continued to gaze up at the night sky.

"It's nights like this when I can't help but wonder about everything," Elliot mused, glancing at Ophelia. "The vastness of the universe, our place in it, and all the mysteries yet to be unraveled."

Ophelia agreed, her eyes still fixed on the stars. "There's something calming about sitting under the stars, feeling so small and insignificant yet connected to something much grander."

A contemplative silence enveloped them, and then Ophelia turned to Elliot, breaking the quietness. "So, what's your story, Elliot? Why are you out and about?"

He explained, "I needed some fresh air and a place to clear my head, I guess. And here you were, sitting with a pack of cigarettes."

Ophelia chuckled softly. "Well, I hope I'm not a bad influence," she teased.

"I'm my own bad influence, don't worry. Besides, smoking a cigarette with a mysterious girl under the stars has got to be worth it, right?"

Her cheeks flushed slightly; Ophelia smiled shyly. "Mysterious, huh? I think you're just being dramatic."

"Maybe. But hey, I'm not complaining." Elliot shrugged, a playful grin on his face.

As the night wore on, they shared more meaningful conversations, getting to know each other better under the moonlit sky. Ophelia felt a connection with Elliot, and despite being strangers initially, they seemed to understand each other on a deeper level.

Eventually, Ophelia decided it was time to head inside. "Well, it was nice to meet you. I'm gonna head in."

Elliot nodded, rising to his feet. He moved a bit closer, making her slightly nervous, but she couldn't deny the intriguing allure he held. "It was nice to meet you too," he said, tipping an imaginary fedora with a playful smile. "Till next time, Ophelia."

Her smile widened, and with that, Ophelia bid him farewell before heading back inside, carrying the memory of their moonlit encounter with her into the night.

✧

"You mind if I tape this?" Joey asked, glancing up from the tape recorder at Tate, who was lying on a couch in his office with his head resting on the arm of the chair.

"No," Tate replied bluntly.

Joey moved to sit on his own chair across from Tate, with a table separating them, and hit the record button. "Are you taking your meds?"

Tate nodded. "Yes."

"Any side effects?"

"I was taking them at night, but they kept me up."

"What did you do?"

Tate picked at his fingernails, glancing at Joey. "Started taking them in the morning."

"Light sensitivity is pretty common."

"Maybe... Yeah, I think so."

Joey took a deep breath. "When I was in medical school, they brought in this CIA interrogator to help us better identify who was lying. This guy was 6'5", crew cut, and he must have been one hell of an interrogator because I'll tell you something—I'd be terrified to lie to him."

Tate sat up from his reclined position and stood up, staring at his doctor. "You think I'm lying to you?"

"Light sensitivity isn't a side effect of Lexapro, Tate."

"So, you lied to me?" Tate paced before sitting down in a chair.

"What's important is whether you're telling the truth about doing these things to your classmates, if you are actually a danger to society." Tate began to rock in his chair. "The law says that I have to report you to the police."

"Did you call them?" Tate asked, filled with worry.

"Not yet." Joey stood up, pacing around his office. "I've treated psychotics before and people with the right combination of chemical imbalance and psychological damage that can't be reached."

Tate looked up at Dr. Bishop, who was now closer to him. "You think that's me? You think I can't get better?"

"You?" Dr. Bishop scoffed jokingly. "Are you kidding me? You're hopeless." The two shared a laugh before Joey spoke again and sat down on the table in front of Tate. "Everybody can get better, Tate. Everybody. I just think you're scared. Of what, I'm not sure yet. Maybe rejection, certainly because of what your father did to you."

"I was afraid my big dick wouldn't work," Tate admitted with a small smirk, causing Joey to chuckle.

"What?" Joey asked.

Tate chuckled along with the doctor. "Yeah, that's why I don't take the meds. I was afraid my dick wouldn't work... because I met someone." Tate glanced over at Ophelia, who had been peeking behind the door and listening to their session.

✧

Ophelia noticed him looking directly at her, causing her to sneak back up to her bedroom. She hoped he wouldn't mention it to her father. Leaving the door open, she flopped back onto her bed. She didn't mean to listen in intentionally. She was so bored of doing her homework that her curiosity got the best of her when she heard them talking downstairs. The girl glanced over to her college book and groaned. Suddenly, she heard a slight knock on the door, so she sat right up to see who it was. She heard her father refer to the boy from the bathroom as Tate. That obviously had to be his name.

"Um... hi," Ophelia smiled slightly, feeling a bit awkward due to his presence. The boy leaned on the doorway, taking in her appearance before speaking.

"Hi, I'm Tate."

"I heard," Ophelia pursed her lips, nodding her head. "I'm Ophelia."

"Pretty name. It suits you," Tate smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Did you want to come in?" The girl asked; her father would definitely not be happy that she was hanging out with him, but she didn't care. He seemed okay enough to her.

Tate glanced behind him as if to check if her father wasn't around before stepping in. "Sure."

Ophelia pulled herself off her bed and walked towards him. She had recently just got done unpacking, and her room was just the way she wanted it. Her music was still playing from earlier.

"What are you listening to?" Tate asked, not recognizing what was playing from her speaker.

"Oh, uh, Deftones," Ophelia stammered; he was taller than her by quite a lot. He practically towered over her.

"Hmm, never heard of 'em," Tate glanced around the room, and Ophelia frowned at his response. Tate seemed to notice this before flashing her a charming smile. "I like it, though."

Silence filled their ears before Tate spoke again and looked down at her, "So, why do you cut yourself?"

Ophelia was shocked by his bluntness; she stammered for a second. "I don't know... Control, I guess? I've never been able to control the pain in my life, but with that... I can."

"I get it, don't worry. I've done it, too." Tate smiled down at her, making her feel a little weak in the knees. "Wanna show each other our scars?"

Ophelia thought for a moment, sitting down cross-legged on the rug. "You first."

Tate sat down in front of her, their knees touching. He rolled down his sleeve, holding up his arm and pointing to a healed scar on his wrist. "This one I did after my dad left. I was... ten, I think."

Ophelia nodded her head at his story before pulling up one of her own sleeves and holding up her arm. The girl pointed to the freshest ones. "These were when I met you. These girls at my college won't leave me the fuck alone... I wish I just waited a year before going back to school."

"Westfield, right? The worst. Me and my best friend got thrown out of there."

"I hate the people here." Ophelia glanced down at her legs before looking back up at Tate, "Where I lived before wasn't much better, but at least I had friends. There's more weather here, though, I love that."

"I love it when the leaves change."

A smile tugged at the girl's lips, "Yeah? Me too."

Tate stood up from his place on the floor, and Ophelia's eyes followed him. "Why'd you move here?"

"My mom died in an accident a few months ago. Some drunk driver T-boned her."

Tate turned back to face her. "That's horrible."

"It's okay, I mean... I miss her. I just feel bad for my dad. She was having an affair with his best friend. That's where she was before she got hit by that car."

"Damn... if you love someone, you should never hurt them. Never."

"Right?" Ophelia watched him walk over to her chalkboard and write 'taint' on it. "My dad was so heartbroken when he found out after she died."

Tate looked back at her, making his way back to his spot in front of her and sitting down. He reached for the arm that she showed him earlier, holding it with both his hands before running his fingers down her scars. "I'm sorry."

Ophelia stared into his eyes. They were such a dark shade of brown that they almost looked black. Butterflies filled her stomach. She took in a breath before pulling away from him and standing up. "Why are you seeing my dad?"

Tate stared up at her. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. You're smarter than that."

Ophelia couldn't help but smile at his words, a blush creeping onto her cheeks as she turned off the music that was playing. She grabbed her iPod and sat down on her bed. "What do you wanna listen to?"

"Got any Kurt Cobain on that thing?" Tate asked, causing the girl to smile at him even more.

"What are you doing in here?" Joey interrogated, causing the two to look up at him standing in the doorway.

"We're just listening to music, Dad," Ophelia replied. Joey shook his head, looking down at Tate.

"You need to leave, Tate. You shouldn't be in here. I think you know that. Please." Joey urged, motioning for him to leave the room. Ophelia watched Tate stand up to leave, stopping in front of her father.

"What's that thing you think I'm afraid of? Fear of rejection?"

Joey just stared at him before Tate walked out of her bedroom. Walking towards his daughter, he urged her, "Stay away from him."

"Dad, noth—"

"You heard me!" He cut her off before slamming her door.

✧

Joey and Ophelia walked into the kitchen, just getting back from grocery shopping. They placed the reusable grocery bags down, pulled out the items, and placed them on the counter. The two hadn't talked much during their trip to the store. Ophelia couldn't understand why her father lost his shit so badly. Tate didn't seem so bad to her. However, her father was his psychiatrist. Maybe he knew something she didn't? The girl let out a long sigh. The sound of noise poppers hitting the ground brought the little family out of their thoughts. They both turned to find the source of the noise and saw every single drawer and cabinet open, including the refrigerator. Ophelia gasped at the sight, immediately looking to her father.

"What the fuck?" Joey said, sharing a look of confusion with his daughter. Suddenly, they heard laughter coming from the hallway. They followed the noise and noticed Adelaide was the cause of the laughter.

"What are you doing?" Joey seethed as Adelaide continued to laugh. "Why are you in my house?"

All Adelaide did was point to something behind them, but when Ophelia turned to look, nothing was there.

"This is Adelaide, she lives next door. Her mom warned me that she'd try and sneak into the house again."

"Again?" Joey questioned, not knowing this had happened before.

"Yes." Ophelia crossed her arms, looking at Adelaide with disappointment. "Again."

Constance entered the home in search of her daughter and soon found her. The older woman grabbed hold of Adelaide's arm before lecturing her. "Adelaide, what did I tell you?"

"Is this your daughter?" Joey asked, having met this woman before.

"Yes, this little demon is, in fact, my daughter," Constance replied, looking towards the two.

"This is unacceptable." Joey shook his head, leading everyone to the kitchen. Constance and Adelaide sat on the chairs near the island. Ophelia continued to put away the groceries as her father spoke to Adelaide. "I want you to stay out of my house. Do you understand?"

Constance pulled a cigarette out of its box, "Can I smoke in here?"

The woman went to light it before he replied. "No." Joey turned his attention back to her daughter. "Adelaide, answer me, please."

Adelaide just stared up at him, "Can I... have a snack?"

"No. Adelaide, I want you to stay out of the house." Joey continued, Ophelia turning towards the girl. "I want you to stop coming in and opening things up."

"Seriously, Addy. And stop coming in here and telling me I'm going to die," Ophelia chimed in, crossing her arms in the process.

Joey looked over at her daughter in surprise, "She said that?"

Ophelia nodded, and Constance laughed at the situation. "She says that to everybody." Constance ran a hand through her daughter's hair. "Say you're sorry."

"No. They did it." Adelaide explained, turning to her mother.

"Who did it?" Ophelia questioned, and Adelaide turned her attention back to her.

"The twins." The girl answered, followed by her mother shushing her. "Can I... have a snack?"

Ophelia shook her head, moving a bit closer to where the girl sat. "No. Adelaide, listen to me. You have to stop coming in here without permission, do you understand?"

"Yes." Adelaide nodded.

Ophelia let out a sigh of relief, "Thank you."

Constance stood from her seat, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Time to go, Addy."

Adelaide stood up and followed her mother. Constance stopped at the back door, ushering her daughter out and turning to Joey and Ophelia. "Sorry about all this."

The two watched them walk out the back door, sharing a mutual glance of 'what the fuck just happened.'

✧

Ophelia sat on a half brick wall that lined her house, leaning back against a sturdy brick pillar. Her legs were pulled up near her chest, cradling the book she was engrossed in. With one hand gracefully flipping the pages, she brought a half-smoked cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke. As she looked up from her book, she noticed Tate walking towards her, accompanied by Elliot, the boy who had asked for a cigarette in her front yard the other night. She hadn't realized they knew each other.

"What are you reading?" Tate inquired as they reached her. Tate hopped onto the brick wall, while Elliot stood nearby.

"A book," Ophelia teased, taking another drag of her cigarette, her playful smirk evident in her tone.

"No shit, Sherlock. What kind of book?" Tate countered, playfully shaking his head at her joke, with Elliot laughing along.

"The kind you read," Ophelia replied, her smoke-filled breath escaping.

"You're not funny," Tate retorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he got an idea. He snatched the book from her hands, and she whined, trying to reclaim it, but he skillfully evaded her grasp.

Elliot read the title on the front of the book, while Tate flipped through its pages. Ophelia turned her attention to Elliot, recalling their first meeting as he lit his own cigarette.

"Got your own cigarettes, huh?" Ophelia teased, her mind drifting back to their encounter.

"I was out," Elliot playfully defended himself.

She glanced between the two boys. "I didn't know you guys knew each other."

"Oh yeah, we go way back," Tate nodded towards Elliot, placing the girl's book down beside him. Ophelia's gaze returned to Elliot.

"Do you live in the neighborhood too?" she asked, crossing her legs.

"Yeah, me and Tate practically grew up together," Elliot answered.

"Unfortunately," Tate interjected with a joking tone, earning him a playful middle finger from his best friend.

"What're you guys doing here, by the way?" Ophelia inquired, curious about their unexpected visit.

"Just wanted to see what you were up to," Tate shrugged, a smile gracing his face.

"Yeah, my dad is going to love that," she replied sarcastically.

"Is he here?" Tate scanned the yard.

"No."

"Then we're fine, don't worry about it."

Silence fell upon them before an idea occurred to Ophelia. "I have some weed, do you guys wanna smoke?"

"Sure," Elliot nodded, intrigued by the idea of getting high with her and his best friend.

"Yeah, let's do it," Tate agreed.

Ophelia took out her box of cigarettes, retrieving the joint she had kept inside. As she lit it and took a drag, she passed it to Elliot, who followed suit.

Tate glanced over at the book she was reading earlier and back at her. "What is this book about anyway? I've never heard of it."

"Nothing you would like. It's romance and smut," Ophelia explained, watching Tate take a hit from the joint and then passing it to her.

"Smut?" Elliot asked, tipping his head to the side, unfamiliar with the term.

"Explicit sexual scenes in a book," Ophelia clarified with a smile.

The two boys exchanged a look before turning back to her.

"So, like porn?" Tate suggested humorously.

"Basically, yeah. But better."

The three of them laughed, feeling the high taking effect as they continued to pass the joint around. They talked for a while before ultimately deciding the boys should depart before Ophelia's dad got home.

✧

Joey paced around his office, holding a phone to his ear. He had decided to report Tate, feeling as if he was a danger to himself and others, especially his daughter. He was growing angry with the operator over the phone. "No. I have no evidence of any past violence. No. I don't have his social. Listen, do not transfer me again. I'm trying to report a college-age patient. I believe that he could be dangerous. Yes. Yes. I'll hold."

Joey threw his phone on the couch due to the operator hanging up on him. "This is fucking ridiculous." The doctor sat down on the couch, looking through some paperwork as he heard the door creak open. He looked up to see a boy with brown hair and glasses. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, yeah, we had an appointment for 4 o'clock?" He said, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Joey sighed, looking through a paper and seeing that he did, in fact, have an appointment. He had completely forgotten.

"Hey, sorry, I forgot. Come sit." Joey motioned for him to sit down across from him. "Elliot Barnes, right?"

"Yeah, that's me." Elliot nodded, pursing his lips into a line before sitting down. "Everything alright?"

"Oh, yeah. Nothing for you to worry about." Joey leaned back into his seat, crossing his leg over the other. "What's going on, Elliot?"

"Um, I don't really know how to start." Elliot laughed nervously, picking at his fingernails.

"Well, what's been bothering you?"

"I... I've been having these dreams? Nightmares, maybe."

"What happens in these nightmares, as you say." Joey asked, grabbing his notepad and pen from the table.

Elliot seemed hesitant at first, taking a deep breath before speaking. "In my... nightmares... I kill people. A lot of people. People my own age. Which I guess wouldn't be so concerning for most, if you feel bad about it, but when I wake up, I enjoy it. I... think about it all the time. Especially those who deserve it."

Joey stared at Elliot, taking in his words. How is it he is getting all these psychotic patients? He thought to himself.

"I don't know... I just feel like a monster takes hold of my brain, and I don't know how to fix it. I know it's wrong." Elliot looks down at his feet. "The only way to reform people is to kill them."

"That's a quote from Carl Panzram, correct?" Joey questioned, his words sounding familiar. Elliot nodded, looking back up at Joey and maintaining eye contact with him. "When did you start having these thoughts? These... nightmares."

"Since I was a kid, honestly."

"Have you ever acted on these thoughts?"

"No, no, I haven't. I don't want to hurt anyone, but when I get angry, I think about it all the time. I don't think I would ever do it, though."

"When you tell me you feel angry, what else do you feel?" Joey asked, scribbling notes on his pad.

Elliot glances down, wondering what he's writing. "Disappointed. Hurt... Betrayed."

Joey nods, checking his phone for the time. "I think that's about all the time we have today, Elliot."

"Am I crazy, Dr. Bishop?" Elliot asks, his eyes pleading.

"I think you're showing signs of psychopathy. I'm going to get you started on some medication, and I want you back here sometime next week."

Elliot nods his head slowly, taking in the information.

✧

Ophelia walked through the quad, smoking a cigarette and minding her own business. She took a drag before suddenly being shoved. The girl struggled to catch her balance and turned to face the person responsible. It was Leah, she thought with annoyance.

"I told you not to smoke out here," Leah seethed.

"What the hell is your problem?" Ophelia retorted, shoving Leah back. "Seriously. Did your mommy drink too much? Does your daddy love your brother more? Or did your uncle play with your titties when you were a kid? I'm not fucking scared of you."

"You should be!" Leah exclaimed. Ophelia angrily tossed her cigarette on the floor before pushing Leah onto the concrete, but Leah grabbed her, causing both of them to fall down.

As the students noticed the commotion, they began to circle around the girls, cheering and chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Ophelia managed to land a few punches before Leah's friends joined in. The odds were now three against one, and it wasn't in Ophelia's favor. The three girls attacked her, overwhelming her until she found herself on the concrete. Leah threw a punch, causing Ophelia's nose to bleed. Desperate to defend herself, Ophelia grabbed a cigarette and burned Leah's hand with it. Leah screamed in pain and backed off, giving Ophelia a chance to scramble to her feet.

"She fucking burned me!" Leah shouted, nursing her injured hand. Ophelia quickly assessed the situation, realizing that some teachers were approaching. She took the opportunity to escape the scene, running away to avoid further trouble

✧

Joey sat in the kitchen, hearing his daughter come through the back door. "Hey."

Ophelia forced a smile in response, then tried to sneak past him, unseen, but failed miserably.

"Whoa, hey, come here." Joey stood from his spot and walked over to her. "What happened to your face?"

Ophelia stopped in her tracks, slowly turning to face her father. "I fell."

Joey sighed, motioning for her to sit down. "Come here, sit down. Boy or girl?"

Ophelia did as she was told and sat down, watching her father turn and pull a first aid kit out of one of the kitchen drawers. "Girls, three of them."

"I hope they look worse than you do." Joey stated, causing his daughter to smile and walking over to her. "Do you know their names?"

"Snitches get stitches, dad." Ophelia shook her head, there was no way she was going to give him that information.

"You know we can easily find you a different school." Joey offered, placing the first aid kit down and sitting in front of her. "Maybe online college."

"I'm not running away... I'm not scared of them."

"You're not afraid of anything." Joey smiled at her, beginning to clean the cut on her forehead. "It's like that time in kindergarten when you insisted that I bring you home from the slumber party 'cause all the other girls were sleeping with the night light on." Joey then focused on cleaning the blood from under her nose. She wasn't too badly beaten up. "I know you've gotten the short end of the stick lately. This move and... I haven't exactly been so great to be around."

"I'm sorry about mom." Ophelia sighed, placing a hand on her dad's arm to comfort him. "And you're not so bad to be around."

Joey smiled at his daughter's words before she continued. "Do you hate her? Hate what she did to you?"

Her father let out a long sigh, pushing her hair back away from her face so he could get off the last of the blood. "I could never hate her. When I lost your mom... my whole world crashed around me. And when I found out what she had been doing all those late nights... It didn't hurt so bad that she died. Is that fucked up to say?"

"No. I don't think so. What she did was horrible." Ophelia answered, pursing her lips to the side. "Would you ever talk to him again?"

"Who? Derek?"

Ophelia nodded.

"No... Betrayal from the one person you thought was your soulmate doesn't even compare to the person that was your best friend doing it to you too."

Ophelia frowned, feeling so incredibly horrible for him.

Joey nudged her arms before smiling. "You don't gotta worry about me, kid. I'm fine."

"I know. You just deserve so much better than everything you've been through."

"So do you." Joey rubbed his daughter's arm to comfort her. "I love you, bud."

"I love you, too, dad."

✧

Ophelia paced around her room, anger fueling her, while Tate sat in a chair in the corner. "I hate her! I just wanna kill her!"

"Then do it," Tate urged. "One less preppy bitch making the lives of the less fortunate more tolerable is, in my opinion, public service."

"Want her to leave you alone? Stop making your life a living hell? Short of killing her, there's only one solution..."

"You gotta scare her," Elliot chimed in from his sprawled-out position on her bed.

"Exactly what I was thinking, Eli," Tate smirked.

"I doubt she's afraid of me," Ophelia shook her head.

"Then make her afraid of you," Tate replied.

"That's the only thing bullies react to," Elliot agreed.

Ophelia looked between the two boys. "How?"

"It's simple. Tell her you have drugs, get her to come to the house," Elliot stated.

"She's a cokehead and I don't have coke," Ophelia began to bite her nails, still pacing.

"You don't need any. It's just an excuse to get her here. After that, she'll leave empty-handed and terrified. And I promise you... you'll never be bothered by her again," Tate continued, sitting up slightly in his chair.

"How am I gonna terrify her?" Ophelia turned to Tate.

"That's where we come in," Tate smirked, motioning between him and Elliot.

"This will be fun," Elliot grinned.

✧

"What's down there?" Leah asked as Ophelia guided her down the steps into the basement.

"My stash. My dad tosses my room every week," Ophelia replied simply, going over the lines that Tate and Elliot told her to say in her head.

"If you're screwing with me..."

"It's just the basement. Calm down. I found the best hiding place... this is great shit too. A lot of the coke coming into the U.S from Central America is smuggled in on lobster boats from Gloucester. I used to show my tits to the lobstermen in return for a key or two before they cut it."

The two girls made it down the stairs, and Leah looked around. "Where is it?"

"Right around the corner."

Leah started to make her way around the corner.

"To the right," Ophelia instructed, following closely behind her.

"Ugh, this place is a dump."

"Oh, shut up. It's a basement, what did you expect?"

"I want my goddamn drugs," Leah demanded.

"Then keep going," Ophelia urged, watching her enter a small section of the basement before flicking the light switch on. Tate rocked back and forth in a chair, Elliot with his arms crossed standing to the right of him.

"So, this is the coke whore," Tate grinned.

"Who the fuck are you guys?" Leah demanded, clearly irritated.

"Get the lights," Elliot commanded, and Ophelia did as he said, flicking the light switch off.

The lights began to flicker, the boys' maniacal laughter echoing throughout the basement. Ophelia would be lying if she said it wasn't unsettling.

"What is going on?" Leah began to freak out, "What is going on?!"

The boys bent, twisted, and laughed in terrifying ways, the lights flickering, making it all the more frightening. Ophelia's heart felt like it fell into her stomach in fear when she saw something not entirely human. The teeth were sharp, with long creepy nails to match. Snarling could be heard throughout the basement. Fear flooded through her, and she fell back against the concrete basement wall. Leah's screams echoed with terror.

"Come on, whore, come on!" Tate yelled.

"Coke whore!" Elliot shouted. Tate stood from his seat before he and Elliot knocked Leah over, attacking her. They continued to laugh manically.

"Get off me!" Leah begged. Suddenly, through the flickering lights, Ophelia couldn't see the boys anymore. She saw the terrifying monster. So, she wasn't going crazy? Ophelia's body began to shake, and her breath tightened in her chest. "Get it off!"

"Stop!" Ophelia screamed at them, seeing the monster through flashes, then the boys. "Stop it! Please stop!" Tears streamed down her face as she screamed, suddenly being pushed over. Ophelia scrambled to push herself from the floor and pressed herself up against the basement wall. She continued to scream, seeing the monster come inches away from her face. The creature suddenly appeared over Leah, who called out for her mother before it scratched her face. Ophelia forced herself up off the ground, immediately turning the light back on. Sobs escaped her lips as Leah continued to scream. Scrambling to her feet and running out of the basement. Tears continued to stream down her face as Ophelia turned back to the two psychotic boys; they were walking up to her.

"I don't think she'll be bothering you anymore," Tate smiled, proud of his work, then leaning on the basement wall.

"What the fuck was that?!" Ophelia shouted, still trying to calm herself down.

"What? She kneed me in the balls and got away. She must have run into a wall or something," Elliot stared at the girl, confused about why she was so upset.

Ophelia pointed at them, still trembling in fear. "I saw something."

"Ophelia, you're talking crazy," Elliot reassured.

"Don't tell me I'm fucking crazy!" Ophelia yelled.

"This is cool. We showed that bitch," Tate tried, the two boys attempting to walk over to her to comfort her, but she backed away.

"Don't fucking come near me. Get out," Ophelia cried. Elliot stopped in his tracks, but Tate continued to move towards her. Ophelia pushed him away. "I never want to see either of you again."

The two boys grew upset at her words as they watched her continue to back away in fear and run up the stairs.

"I thought you weren't afraid of anything!" Tate yelled out.

✧