AHS Imagines

25: Caretaking 2 (Langdons)

A/N: Guess it should be just "Langdon" since Constance died...oops. Please comment/vote/send requests! I love reading what you guys send me!

Continuation of the first "Caretaking" which is #11

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. M-maybe she'll w-wake up in a s-second." Michael stuttered out nervously, his eyes glazed over with tears.

I was leaning over Constance's body and checking for a pulse, hoping desperately that she wasn't dead. Her widened eyes were fixed on the wall and not blinking, almost bulging from shock or pain. There was no heartbeat I could detect and I gave up on trying to find it after five minutes. Michael's grandma was gone. 

"She's dead." I stated quietly, sitting back away from her.

"N-no!" He protested, walking over to hold his grandmother's temples and seeing for himself. "Grandma, h-hey, i-it's okay I didn't mean it. Come b-back grandma, pl-please. I promise I won't d-do it ag-gain." 

It was perplexing. Just a few mintutes ago, Michael was blinded with rage and somehow strangled his grandmother, the only person who'd taken care of him. But now he was like a lost little boy who was broken at the loss of his grandma. It was almost as if something possessed Michael in that single moment of anger and made him lose control of whatever his abilities were. 

I breathed in shakily, trying to think of what to do in that moment or what to say to him. Clearly, something would have to be done about Constance but what would I do with Michael? I couldn't force myself to turn him in to the police; he was a kid in all ways besides appearance. 

"Michael, she's gone. I'll call 911 and say something happened to her, because I'm not even sure that you did anything." I told him, mind still completely undecided and totally fazed.

"O-okay." He sniffed, wiping a shirtsleeve against his runny nose. 

I made the phone call quickly and was assured that an ambulance would arrive soon. We were both taken to the hospital with Constance, Michael invited into the room where he sat at her bedside all night even though he knew she wasn't coming back. I sat outside, trying to plan out what would happen next. The blond boy wouldn't be put through a foster care system or anything because he looked like an adult and I doubt he would be in government systems if Constance tried so hard to keep him hidden. But there was no way I could take care of him without a decent job or place to stay. 

Both of us were sent away and the nurses told us that Constance was beyond reviving, not to either of our surprise. The surprise came when Michael told me he knew where to go. The house next door, the Murder House, was apparently familiar territory for him and vacant. Michael confidently led me inside the back door, finding his way through the hallways to an office.

"Hello?" He asked, looking around the empty room and making me wonder who he was trying to talk to.

"Michael, there's no one here. I mean, there's a 'For Sale' sign in the fro-" 

"What the hell do you want?" A different male voice questioned, sounding kind of hostile towards Michael.

We turned and there was this other blond guy who looked trapped in the grungy 90s look, a few years older than Michael but with dark brown eyes. I looked over to my accomplice of-sorts to search for any reaction that could tell me how he knew this guy. I also didn't understand how he appeared out of thin air at a house that was empty.

"Dad, g-grandma di-" Michael began, tears starting to stream down his face again just before the guy cut him off.

"Don't you freaking dare to call me that, you're not my goddamn kid." He shouted.

"O-Okay. I was just saying that Grandma died." Michael explained, looking down at the floor with his hands folded nervously together. 

"Thank God, she was a bitch." 

I piped up, completely confused as to their very strange behavior and how the hell this guy was Michael's father: 

"Hold on, what is going on here?" 

The blond guy turned to face me but only responded to Michael: "Why the hell did you drag someone else in here? You should've died with Constance."

Anger was building up in me like a fire against whoever this guy was. Whether or not he was his father, that wasn't a decent way of treating a kid and I was sure Michael hadn't done anything to provoke that kind of treatment. I could feel a lump in my throat and my protective side taking over.

"If you know Michael so well, you'd know that he's just a kid and doesn't need to be yelled at. His freaking grandmother, who was the only person taking care of him, just died and all you can do is say that he should've died with her?! What is wrong with you and who are you to say that to him?!" I shouted at the guy, stepping defensively in between them.

He snickered in response, "I'm Tate, the one who is technically responsible for his existence but not his father. That would be Satan." 

"What are you talking about?" I laughed, not understanding what he was trying to tell me. 

"How did Constance die? I bet it wasn't a heart attack or whatever else is on her paperwork. This sick bastard did something to her, didn't he?" Tate asked referring to Michael.

I stepped back for a moment and figured that maybe Tate did know more about Michael, but still kept my protective position over him.

"It was an accident!" Michael explained with a whimper, "Something took control of me and I didn't know what I was doing until grandma died." 

"Bullshit, you're worse than me and you know it." Tate replied, then turned to me, "You better get away from him or you'll end up like Constance."

He vanished as he'd appeared- in or from thin air. Everything that I'd seen happen in the last 48 hours was enough to drive anyone crazy and I was sure that some of the things I'd seen were delusions. Tate wasn't a figment of my imagination but normal people don't just pop up like ghosts. Normal people also can't asphyxiate someone with just their minds, but I saw Michael do it. 

As soon as I mindlessly walked into the nearby living room, my feet and mind gave out. My body plopped onto the couch, without any thought of the consequences to being in a house that didn't even belong to either myself or Michael. Everything went black and I hoped that it was all a dream or sleep-deprived vision.