Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the American Horror Story series, and I do not claim to own any of the character aside from the ones I have created for the story. This is a story I have written and I am in no way, shape, or form making any sort of profit from it. I am poor. I might even be more so now having written this.

Chapter One:

"This is the small chapel," Mr. Piers Abbott says in a sigh with his chin low. The way he held himself, the way he spoke so distantly, it made Taylor uneasy. She felt his depression—his need to distance himself from this place. "We don't have showings in this one. Gabriel's Chapel is strictly for prayer," he says with a shake of his head before lowering his chin again. She may not have known him for more than a half hour, but she felt he needed something from her.

"Are you all right?" she asks as her copper bangs fall into her narrow eyes. She could give him an ear.

Mr. Abbott furrows his brow and watches to the deep blue geometric carpet before looking back at her. A forced smile makes its way on his face but stop just shy of his sad old dog looking eyes. "Yes," he says with a nod a voice all but there. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his short dark hair. "I just… I did a service for a young boy today." He chews his lip for half a second. "His mother wouldn't step foot out of here. Kept a bible propped on her lap as she held Kleenex to her cheek and wept." Mr. Abbott's chestnut eyes look down the aisle to the crucifix. "I spent the majority of the service making sure she was all right… just checking in on her when I could… trying to coax her out. She wouldn't have it." Mr. Abbott takes a deep breath. "It's been a long day, that's all," he says before leaving the small chapel.

Taylor follows his slow steps and stops suddenly as they stand before a double door. Mr. Piers Abbot turns on his heals, his index finger pointing at the doors as he looks back at Taylor. "This is the big chapel. We do every one of our services in here unless asked otherwise by the family." He opens the doors and Taylor's brow rises.

Ten pews sit before them nearly as long as the room was wide. The chapel could easily hold two hundred people with the added pews to both the left and right posing the podium and casket area as a sort of stage. Behind the podium the wall sits covered in ivy; the vines intertwined with the red and brown brick that made up the rest of the wall. Little bursts of pale purples and delightful reds peak through the base of the ivy where an indoor flowerbed sat. The windows were arched and clothed with red curtains with a gold lace overlay. The carpet was no longer the blue geometric from the hall, but rusted orange and deep red. It looked how Taylor imagined a king's bedroom chamber would be. It was grand yet gentle. But that wall; the plant life growing and thriving. She had never seen such a thing in a funeral home let alone a chapel—not that she had been in many.

"It's beautiful," she breaths before bringing her hand to her mouth as if it to catch the echo her voice carried.

Mr. Abbott gives a gentle smirk. He swallows and dips his head in a nod. "Mr. Honoroski, the man I took my apprenticeship under, he told me and now I'm telling you that when you hold a funeral you want it to be in a place where the family and friends feel as though God and his angels are sitting there with you." Mr. Abbott crosses his arms. "I believed his words and when I had the opportunity to own my own business, I spent countless hours deciding how to decorate this room." He lets out a sigh and his shoulders almost drop. "It's nice to see that my efforts were not wasted," he says before averting his eyes from Taylor.

Mr. Abbott gestures his hand and Taylor steps out of the chapel. He closes the door and buttons his ashen blazer before proceeding. "Down this hall," he says with swift steps, "is the main entrance—you saw it yesterday." Taylor nods. "If you happen to be coming down here, make sure you are presentable. The foyer is… a very special place." Taylor nods again as the man looks back at her. As they pass the main doors, Mr. Abbott leads her down a new hall and she grins as she lets out a chuckle. "Is something funny?" he asks as he stops abruptly.

"This place is just so big. The funeral home in my hometown was just a one story house and a basement," she says with her shoulders rising in a shrug.

"Small town, I take it," he says and Taylor nods.

"Very," she says. "It was family owned… you couldn't get in unless you were married to one of the daughters. If you were a woman, you would be considered lucky to be a receptionist. Even then—," Taylor smirks and shakes her head, "—you had to be blood or older than dirt." Taylor scrunches her nose up. "Business wasn't good either. Most people had their loved ones buried in other towns or cities." She shakes her head. "The town didn't have it's own cemetery." She lets out a nervous laugh. "Small town," she finishes.

"Well—," Mr. Abbott sighs again, "—most days we do three funerals here." Taylor raises her brow. "There are four morticians including myself—soon to be five," he adds with a nod to Taylor, "if all goes well." Mr. Abbott continues down the hall with Taylor following at his heels. "We have two receptionists; Julie and Denise. Julie is my mother-in-law and Denise is a lovely woman. I think you'll like them both," he says with a nod. Mr. Abbott takes a breath. "It seems funeral homes are very much a family business," he says with a nod. "My daughter, Abigail, since she could understand what I did wanted to become what I am. Now…" he shakes his head. "She seems a little more into looking after people while they're still alive."

"Ah, she wants to be a doctor?" Taylor asks with a smile.

"General practitioner." He smirks. "She'll care for her patients while they live and then I'll care for them when they die." Taylor lets out a polite laugh. Mr. Abbott shakes his head. "I know it doesn't look like it, but these walls have heard more laughs than cries," he says with a gentle smile. His gentle chestnut eyes watch Taylor for a moment. "You need to laugh here… you're working in a very… dark place. The humor reflects that." Taylor furrows her brow. "You'll understand soon enough," he says before waving her towards another set of doors. "First we must get through the tour."

Jude lowers his gloved finger to an old chin and makes the bottom lip move up and down as he says, "Help, I've fallen and can't get up." Greg, the man across the room from him glares back.

"How would you like it if someone did that to your body?" Greg asks as he ties on his apron.

Jude screws his face up and rises from his stool. "Well, after working here, I doubt that's the only thing I'm going to have to worry about after dying." He smirks at Greg and shakes his head. "I'm more concerned the guys won't vacuum the incinerator well enough and I'll be missing three of my left toes and part of my femur."

Greg chokes at the words. Vacuuming the cremains was a tricky process. "Or have the makeup artist do you up like Bozo the Clown," Greg says before rubbing his nose. The formaldehyde in the room always bothered his nose.

"Ooo," Jude hisses with a wince. "Remind me to ask Terry that if I die before her I want her to do my—," Jude gestures to his face, "—final look."

"Terry is good," Greg says with a nod before looking to the old man on the slab. Greg then looks back at his brother. "But I don't think she could fix you."

Jude raises his strong brow as his jaw slacks open. "I'll have you know that on many occasions I've been told I am the better looking brother," he says.

Greg snorts. "Well, that's not much of an achievement."

"What are you two idiots talking about?" The two men turn to the door of the white room and see Terry leaning on the doorframe watching them.

"How long have you been here?" Jude asks before looking back to his brother. Greg lowers his chin with his smile. "How long has she been there?" he asks.

"Long enough to know I should tell you Mr. Monteiro is not a puppet," Terry says as she approaches the two men. "Hey, sweetie," she says as she places an arm around Greg's waist.

Greg eases into his wife's embrace. "Hey—,"

"It was funny though," Jude says with a nod as he looks down at the woman.

"Bad taste, more like it," she says before kissing Greg.

"Nice to see you too," Greg says.

"And what about me?" Jude asks with a shrug.

"Ten years and he's still asking for it," Terry says to her husband before shaking her head at Jude. "And the answer is no—,"

"You're not going to kiss me?"

"That too—but no, I won't do your makeup," she says with a shake of her head as her neatly tucked mahogany hair falls from its perch behind her ear. "I told Greg I won't do his either—I'm not even going to do Julie's when it's her time." Terry licks her lips before having her dark eyes leave Jude and land on the old man. "It's different when you know the person." She looks back to the man. "You should know that by now," she adds.

"She's right, Judy," Greg says with a nod. "Remember Chuck's funeral," he says. Jude nods at the mentioning of their childhood friend. "After that service, I swore I would never direct another friends' funeral."

"Why are you here?" Jude asks and Terry gives him a wounded look.

"Hey," Greg says as his eyes dart to his brother.

"No, seriously, I thought you had the day off Terry," he says in defense.

Terry raises her brow and pulls away from Greg. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I guess I'll tell you. I thought I would come down here and let you know Piers has an apprentice coming in," she says. "Figured I'd give you fair warning so you had a chance to filter yourself and refrain from doing something stupid—,"

"How sweet," Jude says before sitting back down on the stool. "I've said it before and I'll say it again; you married a winner, Greg." He presses his lips together and shakes his head.

"He certainly did," Terry says before linking her hand with Greg's.

Jude sighs. "I don't know how you ended up with him—,"

Terry lets out a snort and Greg furrows his brow.

"If you ask a girl thirty seconds into a date if she wants to touch your stick you're damn stupid if you think she's not going to slap you," Greg says.

"I was talking about the shift stick—," Jude's ebony eyes look up at Terry, "—you know I was talking about the shift stick."

"I don't regret going out with you," she says with an innocent shrug. "I met Greg because of it. However, I do regret getting in that car—,"

"And this is the embalming room," Mr. Abbott says as he steps into the white room. He gives an entertained hum as his eyes settle on the three at the embalming table before giving them his sad yet comforting smile. "Taylor," he says as he turns to the woman following him. "This is Greg and Jude Montgomery and Greg's wife Terry—,"

"Cosmetology," Terry says with a strained neck unwilling to be associated with embalming people for a living. "I do the makeup for most of the deceased here," she adds with a nod and polite smile.

"Ah," Taylor says.

"Jude and Greg make up half of the morticians here," Mr. Piers Abbott says.

"Nice to meet you," Greg says with a low nod.

"Don't shake his hand," Jude says as he watches Taylor raise her palm for a shake. Greg lets out a chuckle.

"I've been handling chemicals," Greg says with a nod.

"That and if I were you I wouldn't touch it anyway," Jude says and Greg smack the back of his brother's head. "And now I have to go shower," Jude growls before rising from the stool once more. As he removes his apron he turns to Taylor and nods. "It was nice meeting you… stay away from these two—," his index finger circulates in Terry and Greg's direction, "—nothing but solemn nods and sobering words come from them," he adds before leaving the room.

Taylor arches a brow and looks back to Mr. Piers Abbott for guidance.

"Jude thinks this place is his own personal party house," Greg says with a low nod as his hands sit on his hips.

"Is that where my brandy has been going?" Mr. Piers Abbott asks with a hunched back and inverted brow.

"All I'm saying is find a new place to put it… maybe get a lock and key for your cabinet," Greg says with a smirk and Piers lets out a chuckle.

Terry watches Taylor stiffly stand. The young woman's eyes slowly look to the body on the embalming table and then shoot back to Mr. Abbott and then down to her feet. "It seems insensitive, doesn't it?" Terry asks making the men turn their attention to her.

Taylor's lips part and she gives a shrug. "I don't know what it is," she says softly.

"Soon enough, you'll be eating your lunch in the crematorium with little to no trouble," Greg says.

"Isn't that the truth," Mr. Abbott says with a short laugh. He turns back to Taylor. "Well, I think I've stolen enough time from you today," he says. "Go home, have a shower, relax. Tomorrow we start your apprenticeship."

"You'll have me?" Taylor asks with her eyes wide and mouth smiling widely.

"Of course," he says with a nod. "I wouldn't have wasted so much time with you if I wasn't going to keep you around," he adds and Greg and Terry chuckle. "We know the dress code, yes?"

"Business," Taylor says with a nod.

"Nothing flashy or too bright," Mr. Abbott says with a nod and hand raised. "Come in tomorrow at five thirty. I won't be here, but Greg or Jude will. They will have you shadow them until I arrive."

"Wow, thank you," Taylor says with excitement making her movements sporadic and wiry. "Thank you so much, Mr. Abbott—,"

"Please, call me Piers. It's best we interact on a first names basis," he says before turning to Terry. "Would you like to show her out?" he asks her.

Before Terry can answer, Taylor shakes her head. "I can do it," she says with a nod. "I should get familiar with the hallways anyway," she adds before heading towards the door. She pauses and looks back at the man. "Thank you again," she says softly.

"Thank me when it's over," Mr. Abbott says with his mouth pinched to one side and eyebrows raised.

As the room dulls to a silence, Greg takes a deep breath and lowers his chin. "How does Julie feel about this?" he asks as his eyes rise to the sad ones across from his.

"We'll find out tomorrow," Piers says and Terry's jaw slacks.

"You should probably let the person you co-own a business with know when you're bringing in new people," Terry says. "Remember how she reacted with me?"

"It's a bit of a right of passage," Piers says with a smile that kept his eyes seemingly lifeless.

"He's right," Greg says. "Without her reaction, every person here might think she's a better person than she actually is."

"Best people see her more… scary side now than later," Mr. Abbott says with his shoulders tensing. "Taylor will get over it. She seems timid, but what woman wouldn't be when entering a male dominant career for the first time?"

"God help her," Terry says with a shake of her head. She snaps her head towards Greg. "You better be here early tomorrow. She shouldn't have to face the banshee alone."

Greg smirks. "I'll make sure Jude's here."

Mr. Abbott's neck strains as he winces. "That might make things worse. Those two are like oil and water."

"But at least he'll defend Taylor. He'd rather side with the devil than agree with Julie," Greg says before looking to the forgotten body. "I should get back to work," he says to himself. "Hey," he says and Piers turns to him. "When is Mr. Monteiro's service?"

"Next week right after Mrs. Lowman's annual visit."

"She married again?" Terry says with a touch of shock. She shakes her head. "Never mind, of course she did."

"How old was this one?"

Mr. Abbott shakes his head. "Let's refrain from gossip. She's our best business to date. No need to backtalk her." He takes a breath and purses his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow. Please be kind to Taylor."

I know this is a dry chapter, but hopefully it piques some interest!

Reviews are, as always, welcomed!