Vengeful Spirits (Tate Langdon Love Story)

Chapter 9: Death

1994…

“Does Tate Langdon and Cherry Berrymore live here?”

“He's my son and adopted daughter. Why?” Constance asked her heart racing with worry. “What have they done?” she asked her eyes lying upon the large group of armed officers. 

“All right, make entry.” the leader instructed as all of the officers filing into the home pushing past the woman of the house storming up the stairs. 

“Let me just talk to them! Please, just let me talk to them! Tate! Cherry!” Constance begged having to be held back by one of the officers leaving her to scream for her son. “No, please. They'll go peacefully. They’re just a children! They're just a children! Tate! Cherry!” she continued to no avail “Oh, God, please don't do this! They're just a children! Let me talk to them!” she pleaded on deaf ears.

Kicking the door open to the boy’s room the officers looked upon a horrific sight. Tate sitting on his bed with Cherry lying lifelessly in his lap. Her eyes held open with no life in them blood dripping from her stomach staining the bed. Tate didn’t bother to look up at the team of offices pointed their guns at the boy shining bright red laser pointers to his chest. His bloody hands holding Cherry’s cold one tightly before giving it a kiss lifting her body in his arms slowly placing her gently onto the ground before standing up straight again. Looking to the officers with emotionless eyes slowly raising his hands in surrender, but before they could make a move to arrest him, he slowly made a finger gun with his right hand slowly placing it to his head taunting the officers to give him what he wanted which was death to be with his soulmate. Seeing none of the armed men pull the trigger he had no other option lunging for his gun that was hidden under his pillow only to have dozens of bullets fired into his chest as he collapsed beside Cherry’s body. 

“Why did you do it?” the leader of the group demanded kneeling over Tate’s body. The boy gurgled coughing on his own blood that slowly began to fill his lungs giving a wide smile looking over to his love before dying. Like Romeo and Juliet. 

2011…

“Smart girl.” I commented as Tate and I watched her type on her laptop looking up Westfield High school Massacre. 

“Constance must have gotten to her when we were out having fun.” Tate smirked referring to the teens who wronged us that got what they deserved. 

        We were invisable to her wanting to keep an eye on her to see how she would react to finding out we are technically dead. I looked over her shoulder watching her scroll through the lives we had taken five being the ones we met last night. Clicking on a link she comes to a page titled Suspected shooters found dead Tate Langdon and Cherry Barrymore and held our school pictures. Reading the article below it I sighed seeing that they assumed that Tate forced me to join him in the shooting spree to explained why I was found in his room with a gunshot wound to the stomach stating that I threatened to tell the authorities not wanting that he shot me. A tear trailed down my cheek quickly wiping it away not wanting Tate to see, but he saw anyways. 

“What’s wrong.” he asks wiping another tear with his sleeve. 

“I hate how they think you forced me to join you and you killed me.” I told. 

“Let them believe what they want to believe.” he whispered into my ear bringing me into a hug.  “We know what really happened.” he reminded.

        Appearing in Violet's bedroom I looked to see the teen curled up on her bed. “Violet I called getting no answer in return. “Violet.” I repeated a lot louder receiving the same answer sighing that she was ignoring me on purpose. So what we were ghosts get over it why humans had to be so over dramatic. Shaking her shoulder her limp body falls it her side looking to see a bright orange medicine bottle beside her empty. “No.” I gasped holding the unconscious teen by her shoulders shaking her trying to get her to wake up. Shuddery whimpers lifts my lips as I pull her by her thin arms pulling her out of the bed trying to drag her to the door. Stumbling over my own feet cursing myself for not being strong enough taking all of my strength to get to the doorway.