Constance Langdon was well acquainted with death, accidental or otherwise. It followed her around like bad smell and hummed in her ear. Tragedies happen, she understood that much, but how could so much of it happen to one person?

Hugo, her husband, had loved her but at some point, he must have stopped. He began to drown himself in liqueur for whatever reason. His children were hard to cope with. The Langdon family couldn't go out all together because of the looks and the comments people made. Constance never thought that her beloved husband would be on the receiving end of a gunshot fired by her and she truthfully didn't want to kill him. At least the dogs enjoyed him.

Moira was a girl who could give Hugo what he wanted. She would've made him very happy, the whore. It was Constance's who hired her in the first place and she should've been aware of the risks that hiring a sexy house maid would rise although she never thought Hugo would be one to cheat. Clearly she was wrong.

Then there was Beau. Her sweet angel who she couldn't take care of properly. He was in pain and he would've never been able to have a normal life. Keeping him alive was cruel. She hand contemplated putting him out of his misery a long time before his death but the letter informing her she would be charged with child neglect settled it. She made Lawrence do her dirty work because she couldn't bring herself to kill him herself. He was her baby, after all. Regardless of looks.

Tate was a good boy for the first part of his life. He was a polite, happy child - full of life and love. She honestly had no idea where it went wrong. He turned into an unrecognizable shadow of himself. He didn't accept Lawrence as his new father figure and he knew that his mother felt nothing for him so he set him on fire. The flames were captivating. They were the only light in his life at that moment. Larry deserved sweet, sweet revenge and that Tate had seen it through, nobody could stop him. Through the unbearable heartbreak of watching her son be killed by a SWAT team, Constance was relieved that they had done what they had to do because she would've been his next victim.

Whilst Constance was not responsible for the death of Addie, the guilt hung around her shoulders like a weight. She had called her all those terrible things and, despite apologizing, Constance still felt Addie's anger towards her. She tried to blame her death on Violet but knew it couldn't stick. It wasn't anybody's fault (except for the driver of the car who sped away) but a good example of how you should be careful what you say to people, because it could be the last thing you say to them.

And The Boy Dahlia was the cherry on the top of a cake baked in grief. Again, an example of minding your word. Their relationship might have been toxic and filled anger, jealousy and insecurity but Travis was more than a mere boy toy. He was a single ray of sunlight in a raging storm. She had loved him.

Sometimes Constance wondered: Who was the real Langdon psychopath?

-

The house was so full yet somehow depressingly empty or so Vivien liked to suppose. She knew there were many trapped souls but she had only seen a small selection of them. Obviously Ben and Violet, Nora she saw frequently when she offered to take care of the baby, Hayden popped here and then when she felt in the mood to piss Vivien off, she occasionally caught a glimpse of Tate but he disappeared before she could say anything and more recently Constance's other son, Beau.

Vivien was currently on a search to find her daughter whom she had not seen since last night. Even in death, Viv was determined to be a better mother to Violet even though Violet insisted she was already a good mother. Good wasn't good enough for Vivien. Mothering Violet wasn't just a responsibility now, it was a hobby.

Except Violet was nowhere to be found. Vivien had checked all the places Violet usually hung around. The attic, her bedroom and the kitchen were all vacant. She had searched in every nook of every room - even the basement that Violet wouldn't go near. The basement was Tate's territory.

"Ben, have you seen Violet?" Vivien asked as she entered her husband's office. Ben didn't see patients anymore on account of being dead. The office was no more than another room in an abandoned house.

"Not since last night" Ben replied as he sat on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table "Have you checked the attic?"

"Everywhere" She explained "Kitchen, dining room, living rooms, all the bedrooms and bathrooms, every closet - even the basement! I think she's avoiding us, Ben"

"Everywhere?" Ben questioned, standing up "Even the crawlspace?"

"Not there" Vivien realized "Why would she be there?"

"Who knows" Ben shrugged "But we don't know for sure that she's not in there. I'll go check now"

Ben left the room without saying another word to look for his daughter or at least to put his wife's mind at rest.