Chapter Text
1983
“Please, I really need this job,” Moira begged, keeping her distance from the drunk man swaying in front of her.
“You liked it the last time,” he smirked, edging towards her.
“That was a mistake. I was just lonely.”
“You want a Camaro? Huh? We got a new shipment in yesterday.”
“No, I- Ah!” His hands took hold of her young skin and he threw her on the bed. “No, please,” she wailed as he lay on top of her, spreading her legs wide enough for his waist to fit between. His cigarette-stained hand covered her mouth as she sobbed and tried to push him away.
“Shh,” he cooed, pulling down his trousers and kissing her neck.
The startling sound of mirror smashing stopped him in his tracks, and they both gasped, pulling away. Moira covered herself as she faced the agonizing gaze of the lady of the house, who was pointing a handgun in their direction. For a split second, Moira saw nothing but pain etched across the woman's curling lip. An elegant finger pulled the trigger and Moira’s blood spurted across the headboard of the bed. Her body melted onto the floor with a quiet thud.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.” Constance’s words mixed rage and disgust with the pain that bubbled inside her.
“Sweetheart, please. This, this… this didn’t mean anything,” Hugo begged, trying to calm his wife. She swallowed, keeping the gun steady.
Fury blew over her. “You’ve broken my heart for the last time,” she snarled, firing three shots into his chest. Constance looked over his limp body as she stumbled to the bed. Her eyes began to glass over as she calmly removed her earrings, before bellowing her pain in great, stricken sobs. She lay a hand on her husband’s cooling body, gasping in agony.
“You could have made it in the movies, after all,” a dry voice taunted from behind her. Constance turned, blinking away her tears, trying to clear her vision. “Great act, truly.” The maid sauntered towards the widow, deciding instead to sit at the vanity table. Constance’s brow furrowed. She shook her head, letting the air escape her. “But everyone knows you didn’t really love him.”
“W-what?” Constance managed, squinting at the ghost who was fixing her hair in the mirror. Moira turned on the stool and Constance quickly reached for the gun, holding it firmly at the undead beauty. “What are you?” she panted.
“Your reasoning, by the looks of things.” She glanced over the body she once inhabited, now laying limp and bloody on the floor. “A way to ease that guilty conscience of yours.” Moira stared unafraid down the barrel of the gun. “Even someone as hollow as you needed a justification for getting rid of that fetid lump of meat. And I respect that.” She spoke softly, her tone almost bored.
“I killed you,” Constance whispered, horrified at the realisation. She continued blinking, trying in vain to make the apparition disappear. But the maid only smirked at her.
“Yeah, now that’s the part I’m having trouble with,” Moira sighed. “Why did you do that?” She shuffled the vanity stool closer to both the edge of the bed and the gun that threatened her.
“You were screwing my husband,” Constance roared, narrowing her glistening eyes with anger.
“No,” Moira corrected. “I screwed your husband. Once.”
“You do it once, you’ll do it again and again. Filth like you are the weeds of society. Nothing’ll stop you from getting your rocks off,” Constance hissed, her face contorting into disgust at the young maid who perched daintily on the edge of the stool.
“So, you killed me?”
“You’re damn right I did,” Constance spat with conviction. The air between the women grew stifling as Moira stood and glared down at her murderer.
“You’d better watch yourself, Constance. And hope that ghosts don’t hold grudges.” Moira sauntered out of the bedroom leaving Constance panting with reddened eyes, clutching the handgun.