The Consequences of Falling
By Nicole Pruitt

Rating: MA | Status: Completed | Genre: Drama/Romance | Series: None
Summary: Original Series. Who will be there to catch you when you fall?

Warnings: This fic contains sexually explicit themes and is for adult audiences only. Do not read if you are under 18 years of age.

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 4

Who says that it's by my desire,
This separation, this living so far from you?
-Emperor Wu-Ti, "People Hide Their Love"

November 2000, Somewhere in the Southeast, midnight

No one believed Cameron Stuart when he stated that he was from Maine. He did not blame them. His lush voice was flavored with a southern accent, making it sound calm, seductive. He would always explain that he had been born in Maine. He moved to Georgia when he was 3, following his mother as she trailed the man who would become his step-father. He could not remember Maine. It was not home.

But Cameron had no home except his van. The rusting gray beauty had been the only constant thing in his life for close to 7 years. He had bought it from a Southern Baptist Church in Mississippi, culling the money from pawned possessions and friendly donations. By this time, he had left home a full 6 months. Those had been such hard days, his time consumed by alternately trying to remember and then trying to forget what had happened. He only returned to Georgia once, a year long say to put a friend to rest and meet the love of his life. Cameron reluctantly left her behind. He could not tell her of his recurring dreams of awakening among the bodies and the bright crimson flood. Forgetting became Cameron's chief occupation and no one cold help him.

For most of the last 7 years, Cameron made his home on the open road, traveling across North America with gusto. Most of the time he would hold down in one city for a week or two, taking up odd jobs for gas money and living with either a good friend of in the van. He would eventually end up drinking to escape, hoping to push down the shattered memories that threatened to pop up from time to time. There were always two or three days a month that he could not remember. Cameron knew better than to blame the booze. He had been forgetting long before he took his first sip of vodka.

But where to go now? Cameron had been traveling through the American South for the past 6 months, enjoying the warm weather and easy smiles as best he could. But the winter chill had taken hold of his adopted home and he had to leave. He had checked his well worn map the previous day but it was no help. Cameron thought of going further south to Mexico, running from the cold as long as he could. He could only run for so long. It was time to head north even if it meant going into the freeze. He liked the Middle States but he wanted to go further north. With much hesitation, Cameron decided to head up to Maine. He did not want to go home, but he knew that it was time to return. There would be answers for him in Collinsport. Maybe he would find his father. Maybe he would find his past. Maybe he would find out why he so often forgot his nights.

November 2000, 4:00 PM

Constance stared outside the airplane window, watching as the ground became clearer during descent. She was returning from Italy. She had finished playing European concert halls a month earlier. She had remained behind to search for Quentin, checking their old haunts to see if he had been there. He could not be found...at least in the flesh.

Constance almost always felt Quentin around her. First, she would hear his waltz begin to take over the room, filling the enclosure until she could hear nothing else. Then Constance would feel him around her, touching and speaking to her as if he had never left his body. She knew not to ask him when he would be flesh again because he knew no more than she did. Constance learned to merely enjoy his company, to enjoy his still pleasing touch even if it was spectral. The only problem arose when he decided to come to her while she was in public. No one else could hear the music or feel his presence, but they could see the affect Quentin had on her. While they had been together, Quentin had had the odd habit of kissing her neck while Constance was talking with someone, testing to see how long she would take before kicking his shins. Apparently astral Quentin enjoyed this too. No matter who Constance was talking to, Quentin would wrap his phantom arms around her waist and caress her neck, only stopping when she would say "Enough Quentin." This happened often enough for the press to speculate about her sanity based on her conversations with her imaginary friend.

Constance did not care. She had never been much of a media's darling, be it as Constance DuVane or her latest 7-year manifestation. She knew that people would say what they wanted and that there was no use arguing with the opinions of others. People still traveled for miles o hear her play piano and reviewers continued to rave about her talent. Most of these people attributed her skill to her "lineage." If they only knew!

"Ms Douglas?" Constance looked next to her to see a petite red-headed girl who could not have been more than fifteen. In her hands she held a small blue book and a black pen. "I don't mean to bother you," she said in her baby's voice, "but I was wondering if you would sign my..."

"Sure hon." Constance watched as the girl enthusiastically fumbled to a blank page and handed her the book. "What's your name."

"Elise."

"Lovely name." Constance signed it simply "To Elise...Astrid Douglas." She handed the book back to the girl, happy to see her pleased expression. Signing autographs had become an exercise in remembering her new name. As far as anyone knew, Constance DuVane was dead. As far as anyone was concerned, she was Astrid Douglas, only child of Constance DuVane and Grant Douglas. The last 7 years had given Constance a healthy respect for both Barnabas and Quentin. Pretending to be your own descendent looked easier than it was in actuality.

As she left the plane, Constance slipped on her black sunglasses. She more or less liked the look of it, the jet-seeing chick on a mission. She like glancing through the crowd with moderate anonymity. She never saw anyone she noticed, which was for the better. If she had seen Quentin, she would have flown past all security blocks to reach him. Had she seen Josef, she would have pounded his skull into the wall until she heard it crack. Avery's punishment had recently gone into full affect and seemed to be going rather nicely. She thought it was time for Josef to receive his just deserts.

After going through security, Constance left the airport for the car she knew awaited her. The driver opened the door to the black limousine. Angelique sat in the back, a briefcase opened on her lap. Constance crawled inside and motioned for the driver to move once he re-entered the car. "Did you get the papers I asked for?"

"Of course," said Angelique as she handed the papers to Constance. "Why do you need medical credentials?"

"I'll need them to move freely around Windcliffe."

"Why are you going to Windcliffe."

"I have to talk to Chris Jennings," explained Constance.

"What good will it do you?" asked Angelique.

"I have to know how his conditioned as progressed. Julia has been watching him for the past 10 years. She used to give me reports on his conditions. She hasn't done so in the past 4 months. I need to know what's going on."

"You're not going to like what you find out," said Angelique.

"Why?" Angelique handed Constance a letter:

"By the time you read this, I will be gone. All has been prepared. Julia Hoffman-Collins"

"When did you receive this?" demanded Constance.

"2 months ago," said Angelique. "It wasn't addressed specifically to either of us. I thought of calling you but I knew it wouldn't help you to hear it."

Constance sank back into the seat, staring intently on the note. "How did she know that she would die? She's said nothing to me before about being ill."

"She probably didn't want to worry you," said Angelique.

"But this doesn't feel right."

Angelique fell back into her seat and sighed. "I have to agree with you. So I suppose we're off to Collinsport?"

"Well, I was going there anyway," said Constance. "Why not? It's been years since I've seen Barnabas. I've missed feeling like I was two inches tall."

January 1, 2001, Middle of Nowhere 10:00 PM

"Dammit to Hell!" Cameron kicked his rotting steel carcass of a van. It had finally gone out on him. Now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, his only ride unfixable and no one knew his location. To top it off, it was snowing. Cameron was a from the southeast and snow was foreign to him. As well as he had thought he had prepared, he found out the hard way that it was inadequate. It killed him because he knew that it could have been so different.

Cameron had gotten an offer to remain in the south. While buying provisions in Charleston, he ran into Kelene. They had originally met in 1997. It had been the day before Alyssa's funeral. Only later did he learn that Kelene was Alyssa's half-sister. He would not have guessed by their looks: Alyssa was a tall, fair skinned blonde while Kelene was a petite raven haired girl-child with a cafe-au-lait complexion. Had he known that they were kin he would have let her be. But he had not known and instinctively followed his urge to have the small beauty. He had believed that he was failing until he awoke in her small apartment after one of his blackouts. "God Cameron! I thought you were a goner."

Cameron could not explain what had happened to him to Kelene. He did not understand it himself. But he was aching and Kelene let him sleep it off at her place. When he awoke, he found her lying next to him. Cameron had not expected her exquisite hands to wrap around his neck or her lush lips to press to his, but he did not resist her. He happily made love to her, enjoying the feel of her lusciously lithe body beneath his.

Only after a duration of 2 months did Cameron begin to feel guilty. Kelene was 17. He wondered where her family was and why she did not attend school. She was an intelligent, beautiful young woman. She deserved more than a run-down apartment in a dissipated section of Savannah. What could he give her? Cameron was moody, transient, and impossible to employ for the long term. His blackouts only made it seem more baffling to him. Kelene seemed not to care and would nurse him back to health each morning after. Cameron could not understand it.

In an odd experiment, Cameron sat in front of a mirror in an attempt to see what Kelene saw. His face was not his own. It belonged to his biological father. Everyone told him so, their voices and eyes filled with revulsion as they said so. He did not understand how they could dislike him because of his father's actions. In any sense, the face was reasonably handsome even if the lips were slightly thin. His hair was dark brown, seemingly darker because of his pale skin. These attributes were his mother's. Cameron knew he would not stand out in a crowd if it were not for his eyes, bright blue orbs that seemed to glisten in even minimal light. He was not sure where the eyes came from since neither of his parents had blue eyes. It was not impossible to explain away: blue eyes are a recessive trait. Cameron had merely won that round in the genetic lottery.

Cameron decided that, at least physically, he was not a bad catch. Mentally speaking, he was not disadvantaged. Throughout school he had been hailed as an intelligent young man. He had began college with great promise, but he had been forced to quit because of the blackouts. The word Cameron most often heard when interviewing for jobs was "over-qualified," which he was sure was code for "hell no!" It did not matter. The blackouts would have made steady employment impossible.

Yet none of this mattered to Cameron when he was with Kelene. He believed himself too cynical at 24. At 17 and with a cryptic past, Kelene managed to remain pure. To Kelene, every day was a revelation. A snow flurry, a rainbow, or a sunrise still held sway over her and she had a way of making those things charm Cameron. Through the window of their shoddy apartment, Cameron saw the world as perfect...at least as long as the sun continued to shine on Kelene's light sienna skin. He did not know where she received her money or where she found her freedom, but he did not care. Cameron admired Kelene for her emotional honesty. After 8 months as lovers, Cameron had found family in Kelene. He loved her and it scared him to death.

Cameron believed himself to be damned. He had never known his father. He lived perfectly well without one, adoring his fragile mother as he did no one else. He could have hated her for marrying Russell Crudup and moving him to Georgia. He could have hated her for adding two sisters to the family. But Cameron could not hate her no matter how hard he tried. He loved her to the day she and the family were wiped from the earth. He had adored Alyssa until her still unexplained death. Everyone he ever loved ended up dead. Cameron did no want anything to happen to Kelene. He left her after a year.

"Why?" she had begged. "Is it because of what I am?"

"What?"

"You don't know?" He shook his head. "I'm surprised you don't hear them scoffing at me now. It's a hard existence: never white enough for the white kids or black enough for the black kids. After my father died 2 years ago, both families began giving me money to keep me quiet. I shouldn't take it but it's all I have."

Cameron took her into his arms, chastely kissing her forehead as he pressed her into him. "I never knew."

"Are you going to deny me like they do?"

"I don't want to deny you," he explained, "but I can't stay."

Cameron did not believe the words as he spoke them. He saw her a year later in Charleston and they made love. In 1999, she found him in Indianapolis. They had dinner, reminisced, and left one another. In November 2000, they had a one night stand in Memphis. Cameron would have liked Kelene to stay but she claimed that she had to move on. It served him right. Cameron did not expect to see Kelene after that.

When Cameron saw Kelene in Charleston on the seventh of December, his heart dropped. She was beautiful, more breathtakingly gorgeous than she had been when he first met her. She was only 20, 6 months from 21. She was too exquisite for her age. Cameron knew she would not approach him and that he had to make the first move. Carefully, he walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. "Keelie," he whispered, "it's good to see you."

As Kelene turned to face him, a smile began to overtake her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Oh Cameron, be happy for me!" she squealed. "I'd love it if even you could be happy for me."

"Why?"

"I have a job."

"In Savannah?"

"No I'm going to Louisiana."

"Louisiana?" repeated Cameron suspiciously. "What about whey 'they' give you?"

"Damn them," she whispered solemnly. "They don't want me so I don't want their money." Kelene paused a moment, taking just enough time to release Cameron and back away before speaking again. "I want you to come with me."

Almost every fiber of Cameron's being wanted to go with her. He knew that he could not follow Kelene, though. He still believed her to be in danger. Besides, he had a mission. Reluctantly, Cameron shut his eyes and said, "I can't now."

"Why?"

"I'm going to find my father."

"Do it!" Kelene wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him gently but without chastity. "I understand. You have to know."

"Thanks. And if you ever bother to look for me, I'll be in Collinsport, Maine."

"Collinsport?" He nodded. "Good. Maybe--just maybe--I'll be able to get in touch with you."

"Good."

Now Cameron was stuck in the middle of no where. He was not close to Collinsport. He was not close to finding his father. To top it off, he had blown off a life with Kelene to freeze to death in the snow. "I suppose I am damned!" he muttered as he threw some things into a canvas bag.

The moment he locked the van, Cameron noticed a black dot wandering through the snow. As it moved closer, he realized it was a car. After offering God a humble "thank you," Cameron began to scream, attempting to pull the car towards him. To his surprise, it stopped beside him. The passenger door opened and he heard a duo say, "Get in now!"

Cameron jumped in, throwing his bag in the floorboard as he tried to situate himself. He looked up to see the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen staring at him. "Hello," she purred. "I'm Angelique."

Cameron began to speak but he turned to be caught by a pair of large, hypnotic brown eyes. Their owner had chin-length brown hair and a face so beautiful that he gasped. She seemed to hesitate before saying, "I'm Astrid. Who are you?"

"Me?" he asked. "I'm Cameron."

Astrid turned to Angelique and the women burst into nervous laughter. Cameron did not understand it. Astrid turned back to him and said, "I'm so sorry, Cameron. We aren't always the nicest women. But welcome to our little world anyway. I--for one--am please to have you on board."

On the Road, 11:45 PM

Constance could not believe it: she had been looking for Quentin but found his great-great grandson instead. Constance had not planned on stopping for the man. She had not planned on driving to Maine, for that matter. It did not matter now because she was so pleased that she had stopped. This boy had to be Chris' son. His skin seemed to scream lycanthrope. She had seen a picture of Chris Jennings and Cameron was his mirror image...except for his blue eyes. This boy's eyes paled in comparison to Quentin's eyes but they were lovely. He was lovely. It made her pity him more. Where are you going, Cameron?"

Cameron jumped as if being awakened from a daze. "I...um...I'm going to Maine," he murmured weakly.

"Where are you going to in Maine?" asked Angelique.

"I'm going to Collinsport. Why?"

"That's where we are going."

Constance could see the boy's face brighten in the mirror. Cameron was definitely pretty. She wondered if he knew what his problem was. She wondered if he even knew he had a problem. "So Cameron," she said, "why are you heading to Collinsport?"

Cameron's smile instantly vanished. "Can it be my secret?"

"I'm sorry," cooed Constance sadly. "I didn't mean to pry."

Angelique leaned towards Cameron and said, "You'll have to excuse Astrid. Sometimes tact is her most sorely needed quality."

Constance would have shot Angelique a warning glance had a white care to emerged from the snow, forcing her to pay permanent attention to the road. Constance hated driving, usually preferring to pay some nameless soul to take her where she needed to go. But if they were going to drive to Collinsport, it was best that she did the driving. Constance had no need for sleep and could drive for days unimpeded. That did not mean that she enjoyed it. She was convinced she could talk Cameron into driving, no matter how anxious he seemed to be. Constance would bet that Cameron would be willing to try anything once. If he had any of Quentin in him, it would not take much coercion to talk him into it. "Do you want to drive?" she asked innocently.

The smile immediately returned to Cameron's lips, a bit shyer than before but definitely an expression of pleasure. "I...I'd love to but I don't think I can," he stammered sweetly.

"He's not kin to Quentin," she mumbled beneath her breath. Constance jumped when she felt someone pinch her side. She turned quickly to Angelique, who only shrugged and looked away. She soon realized who it had been. "Sorry Quentin," she whispered. Constance felt warm arms encase her and pull her back into the seat. The warmth soon spread over her body like a blanket, making her want to sleep.

Constance remained alert enough to pull into the nearest parking lot. "Why are we stopping?" asked Angelique.

"I need to rest."

"Why did you stop at a bar?"

"I need a drink or ten," she said nonchalantly, doing her best to ignore their stares. "Go on guys."

Cameron stepped out of the car first. Before Angelique could climb out, Constance pulled her inside and said, "Don't let him drink."

"Why?"

"I want him to drive. I'm tired. I've driven too long and I need a break."

Angelique nodded. She leaned in and asked, "Is he Chris' son?"

"I'm positive of it," said Constance.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think he knows what he is?"

"Probably not. He probably knows that something is wrong with him but he can't explain it. If he knows exactly what he is, someone told him. No one jumps to the conclusion that there's a big vicious wolf inside them waiting to get out."

"That sounds right. I remember Quentin saying that Beth was the one who told him that he was a wolf."

Constance turned away, suddenly feeling the loss of his warmth. "Let's not talk about Quentin," she said softly.

"You felt him, didn't you?"

"Yes." Constance looked back to Angelique, more ready than ever to drown her sorrows. "And he led me to a bar. Accordingly, I need a drink."

January 2, 2001, Local Bar, 12:30 AM

Cameron had not met anyone quite like Astrid before. The girl had no shame! As she drank shot after shot of tequila, she milled through the crowd, cooing and talking with every man she bumped into. She did not look as if she wanted to go to bed with any of these men. She only seemed to want to talk. She seemed easy to chat with and the men appeared to enjoy the attention. Cameron could understand why. No one in his right mind would deny a girl in skin tight black leather pants, a silver belly chain coyly peaking out from behind her blue silk shirt. Cameron wondered how she kept warm. He was willing to bet it was the booze.

Watching Astrid drink made Cameron want to drink more than anything. Angelique watched him carefully, making sure he did not take a sip. It was probably better not to drink. Cameron needed to be as sober as possible when he met his father. Besides, with all the tequila Astrid had inhaled, he might have a chance to drive. Cameron did not understand these women but he decided that it was best that he did not. Complaining seemed stupid to Cameron, especially since he was getting a free ride to Collinsport with the most intriguing company.

Cameron eventually slipped away from Angelique. She had turned to seduce some shy college kid, allowing Cameron ample time to sneak away. After much deliberation, he ordered a soda. He wanted to drive, if only to get rid of the ennui he felt from riding. He glanced to his side to see a man staring at him, his dark brown eyes burning holes into his forehead. "What's your problem?"

The man smiled and walked forward. The man was horribly handsome, looking out of place amongst the flannel sea in his three piece suit. "I want to warn you, Mr. Stuart," he said, his deep voice pulling Cameron in with each syllable. "You are in great danger."

"From what?"

"From the raven haired bitch," answered the man venomously.

"Astrid?" asked Cameron.

"Yes! You need to beware of Astrid. She will fill your mind with lies, Mr. Stuart. Stay away from her."

Cameron ignored him. He turned back to his drink to see a woman's finger running languid circles around the rim of the glass. "Don't drink that," warned Angelique, her eyes focused on the dark eyed man. "It's been drugged."

"It's best not to believe her either," sniped the man. He was noticeably disturbed, his pale skin turning crimson as he pursed his lush lips. "She's just as troublesome."

"Am I the blonde bitch?"

"As long as you continue to think so wrongly."

Cameron did not understand what they were arguing about. What right did this man have to come up to him and say such things about these women? The woman in question walked up behind Cameron and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Leave the man alone, Josef," she said strongly. "He doesn't need your lies."

Cameron sighed as Astrid took his arm and led him back to their table. Angelique followed shortly. The man remained behind, his back pressed into the bar. "Astrid!" he yelled. "Woman on top, huh?"

Astrid dropped Cameron's arm and spun on her skinny high heels to face the man. "Do I detected a bit of jealously from the queen of receivers?" she asked calmly, the statement buoyed by Angelique's giggles. "It would take me years to mention all those who've so easily taken advantage of you, you big strong man! Doesn't that make you the raven haired bitch?"

"You would say that," snarled the man. He downed the rest of his drink and left.

Cameron turned to Astrid. Thin tear trails streaked her porcelain cheeks. "Who was that?" he asked softly.

"No one," she whispered. She dried her tears, attempting to look sedate as she searched through her purse. "Let's go. You haven't paid yet, right? How much was your drink?"

"Oh no, I can get it."

"'Oh no' my ass! It's only a soda." Astrid pulled out a card and said, "It won't break my account."

Cameron laughed and told her the cost. He moved to follow Angelique when he suddenly recognized the name on the credit card. "Astrid Douglas?" Cameron glanced back to the beautiful young woman at the bar, wondering if she could be who he thought she was. Astrid walked up to Cameron and grabbed his arm to lead him from the bar. From his new perspective, he could swear that Astrid was Constance DuVane, but he knew that was impossible. Astrid still seemed strange to him, though. She looked much more sober than her alcohol consumption suggested that she should. He only hoped that she would still let him drive.

On the road, 2:35 AM

Constance opened her eyes to a maze of hemp netting and a cool breeze rustling through her hair. The inane chatter of various insects and birds created a hum that seemed ideal to nap in. Even through the beige web Constance could see the deviantly deep colors of the leaves staring back at her, the water glistening on the stems in the mid-day sun. She could feel the dew evaporating off her half-naked body, the other half clothed in plaid pajama pants. Constance knew she had been here before but she could not remember when.

She soon grew stiff and flipped onto her side. She immediately faced a man's bare feet. She followed the legs to their owner and gasped, sinking further into the hammock as she covered her eyes. "Quentin!" she cried quietly. He was sleeping peacefully, his arms crossed across his bare chest and his flannel clad legs crossed at the ankles. Constance knew it was a dream but she was going to enjoy the dream as long as it lasted. She ran her hands inside the pants leg as her foot quietly slipped onto his chest, carefully by-passing his arms as she slipped her toes through the hair in the center before limberly attempting to jump to his navel. Constance jumped when Quentin grabbed her foot, his eyes mechanically opening on her in anger. His face soon softened, however, and he kissed the arch of her foot. "I see you've awakened," she whispered.

"You haven't," he said, his hand easing down her pants leg. "There's nothing wrong with that, though. It seems that I can only get in touch with you during your dreams."

Constance sighed and laid her head against his foot. Quentin continued to play with her foot, running his index finger slowly along the arch. It felt so wonderful to be near him again, to bask in the warmth of his body and softness of his lips against her flesh. But it was all a fantasy, a longing that exceeded her grasp. "I'll never see you again, will I?" she asked sadly.

"No I didn't say that," purred Quentin, his fingers gently caressing her toes. He dropped her foot onto his chest and asked, "Can you come over here, please?"

"Why?"

"Just come over, please." He opened his arms and she crawled inside, nestling herself under his chin. "Isn't that better?" Constance kissed the hollow of his neck in reply. "I knew it would be! Now listen to me: it's almost time."

"Almost time for what, Quentin?"

"It's almost time for me to return. You've found the boy and that's a start. You'll find Chris and then you'll find me."

Constance kissed him full on the mouth. "You're serious, aren't you?" Quentin could only smile. "Oh yes, yes, yes! Oh God, I'm ready for this. What do I have to do?"

"You'll know when the time arrives."

"Be a little more enigmatic."

Quentin laughed and kissed her, slowly easing his body on top of hers. "You know I can't tell you everything, especially things that I don't know myself."

"Then what can you tell me?"

"That I love you so much."

"I love you too. Go on, go on."

Quentin smiled and kissed her again, his hands easing around her back and down her pants. "I can't wait until I can touch you again, to taste you and have you as I always did."

Constance nodded and followed his lead, easing down the soft flannel pants to his knees. As his lips trailed her throat, she embedded her nails into his back, bringing thin blood trickles as they moved towards his ass. His mouth was soft, warm, wet and in stark contrast to his member as it hardened against her thigh. Constance had hardly been chaste in the 25 years since Quentin's spontaneous projection but those men had only existed to ease her compulsion. She wanted Quentin, be it in her life or inside her body. She raised her hips for his penetration, praying frantically that she would remain asleep. She clamped her eyes shut as she felt the tip slip inside...

When Constance opened her eyes, she realized she was inside the car. The night was in full bloom, the deep black sky contrasted against the pure white of the moon and snow. Constance sat up and licked her lips, finding traces of Quentin entwined with the liquor. She did not have to feel between her legs to know that she was dripping. "Dammit Quentin," she sighed under her breath.

"Oh God! It really is you."

Constance turned to see Cameron glaring at her, his bright blue eyes darting between her and the road.

"You're Astrid Douglas," he said. "My girlfriend listened to your records. I know I shouldn't say this but...never mind."

"No tell me," said Constance. The boy knew her alias. She wanted to know what he was thinking.

Cameron swallowed hard, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles began to whiten. "Well...when I was 17, I wanted to be a photographer. One of the people I idolized was your mother. You see, my mother had a book of Constance DuVane's photographs, the series of the island and Grant Douglas. My mother insisted that she knew your father. Maybe she did, I don't know. Anyway, I thought they were wonderful! I wanted to do that. Of course I haven't but I still admire her work."

Constance bit her lip to repress her smile. It was hard to be modest as the boy raved her. "I'm sure my mother would be giddy to know she had an admirer."

Cameron smiled shyly. "I didn't want to say anything. I didn't know if you minded talking about your mother."

"I don't care. How did you know who I was?"

"You were talking to Quentin. Why do you do that?"

"It's my secret." Cameron nodded and looked back to the road, his face relaxed into a lovely smile. Constance thought that he looked so innocent. Constance knew that he had no clue as to what he was. Every wolf lost that innocent look once he discovered the truth. Constance did not want to be there when he found out. "Why are you going to Collinsport?"

"I honestly don't know anymore. I should have followed Keelie."

"Do you mind if I ask you who that is?"

"Not at all," whispered Cameron. "Keelie--well, her name is Kelene--is, WAS my girlfriend. I was with Kelene on and off for a long time. She asked me to follow her and I decided to go to Maine instead."

"Did you have a good reason?"

"I had to find my father," answered Cameron. "I never knew my father. I wanted to ask him so many questions. Now I don't give a damn."

"Why?"

"He didn't care to stay with my mother so I don't really care about him." Cameron's voice began to break, phrases coming out in jagged, tear-stained chunks. "My mother was a saint. She put up with so much shit in her life. He should have had the strength of character to stick around instead of forcing her to turn to that sadist I had for a step-father. I guess it doesn't matter now."

"Why?" asked Constance, moving closer to Cameron as she spoke. "What happened?"

"My mother is dead. My step-father is dead. My half-siblings are dead," he answered in monotone.

"How?"

"I don't know!"

Constance fell back into her seat. She could not push Cameron further. He was already in tears. Constance placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "I'll drive, pull over. Angie! Wake up and sit up front. Let him lay down in the back."

Cameron quickly pulled to the side and everyone switched seats. He wept a few more moments before falling asleep. After a few minutes of strained silence, Constance muttered, "I didn't mean to push him. I certainly didn't expect his answer."

Neither did I," said Angelique. "You know what happened, don't you?"

"He killed them. No! The wolf killed them."

Angelique nodded. Without missing a beat, Constance began to frantically hit the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn and waking Cameron. The car went quiet long enough for Cameron to fall asleep again. "Dammit Quentin! Why did you kill her?" wailed Constance once he was asleep. "Did you know what trouble you would bring?"

"Quentin always underestimated the trouble he could bring," sighed Angelique.

"God! I just want all of this to end."

"Will it ever end?"

"I suppose," muttered Constance, remnants of the dream dancing through her head as she tried to suppress them.

Angelique sighed and turned away. "When is the next full moon?"

"January 9th."

"That's just a little over a week away, isn't it?" Constance nodded. "Wonderful! What are we going to do with him in Collinsport?"

"I don't know."

"Where are we going to stay?" asked Angelique.

"The Old House."

"Does Barnabas know?"

"Not yet."

January 3, 2001, The Old House, 6:30 PM

Barnabas locked the metal door behind him. The night had fallen but traces of sunlight continued to leave the marks in the drawing room. Barnabas could still feel their affects and they sickened him. He would have hidden away an hour more had someone not been frantically knocking at the door. After emitting half-hearted grumbles the entire trek to the foyer, he opened the door and stepped away, gawking as Angelique nonchalantly walked in and looked around. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't you know?" she asked innocently. She glanced back to Barnabas and said, "I suppose not. God, this place is falling apart!"

"I don't need you to tell me that. Now why are you here?"

"I'm sorry. You should have been forewarned."

"That's all well and good, but you've not answered my question. For that matter, why was a crate delivered here a few days ago?"

"Ask Constance," said Angelique.

Constance walked in soon after, looking slightly dazed as she staggered into the house. She walked up to Barnabas and whispered, "Can we talk?"

They walked into the drawing room, the crate drawing Constance's attention away from the matter at hand. Barnabas groaned as he watched her examine the crate, her face glowing as she rounded it. "Why are you here? Is this is one of your far fetched schemes to find Quentin? I'm sorry but I don't have the nerve to be involved anymore."

Constance ignored him. She opened the box with the crowbar atop it and began to pull out the contents. There were two frames inside, both covered with sheets and sealed in bubble wrap. She carefully unwrapped one of the frames and stood back, smiling as she said, "I'm finally realizing how good this looks."

"I'm sorry, Constance. I know this must be a blow to you."

"Why?"

"The portrait has reverted back to its original state. You do know what that means?"

Constance shrugged, staring innocently down on a young Quentin. She carefully placed the portrait in a chair and began unwrapping the second parcel. When she pulled away the sheet, Barnabas felt compelled to turn away. The man in the portrait was horrific, having deteriorated to a state of unbearable depravity since the last time he saw it. "This is the real portrait," she said quietly. "I painted the other. The family has been asking about the famed "Portrait of Quentin Collins" for over a quarter century, begging Quentin to tell them where he's hidden it. I painted this in 1975. Quentin told me it was an exact copy. I'll give it to them in a few days."

"Did you only return to deliver a fake portrait?" Barnabas turned sharply to the sound of a man's voice coming from the foyer. Once the man came into view, Barnabas gasped. "Chris!"

The man looked confused, his bright blue eyes stretched to their limit as he walked into the drawing room. "Why do you call me that?" He turned to Constance and asked, "Astrid, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just a case of mistaken identity." Constance took the man's hand and took him to Barnabas. "This is Barnabas Collins. We'll be living with him for awhile. And this is Cameron. He's our traveling companion."

Barnabas shook Cameron's outstretched hand. This boy's resemblance to Chris was chilling. He glanced to Constance, whose face confirmed the boy's identity. Cameron suddenly noticed the portraits. "Who is that?" he asked shyly.

"Ah, this is my 'ancestor' Quentin Collins," cooed Constance, careful to keep the boy's eyes on the fake. "He supposedly was an extremely charming scoundrel. The portrait was painted in 1897 shortly before he fled Collinsport to create my line of the family."

"So you're a Collins?"

"Kinda." Constance walked back to the boy and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now can you help Angelique unload the car?"

Cameron nodded and left the room. Barnabas moved closer to Constance and asked, "What is he doing here?"

"He was stranded," she whispered. "He said he was going to Collinsport and we picked him up."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't have a clue." Constance jogged from the room and out of the house. Barnabas noticed that she had somehow subtly put Quentin's actual portrait in the box without Cameron ever noticing it. She returned a few minutes later with a Polaroid. "Does this look like Cameron?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm going to show it to Chris."

"When are you going to see Chris?" asked Barnabas anxiously.

"I'm going to Windcliffe tomorrow." Constance's smile fell through as she mumbled, "Someone set it up for me."

Barnabas nodded. He could read between the lines: Julia. Constance walked closer and said, "I'm going alone. I'm sure that if you asked Angelique nicely, she would watch you during the day."

"I...I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't lie to me, not about this." Constance grabbed his arm and whispered, "I know that you've reverted. You can't hide it from me. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No. You are the last person I would confide in."

Constance flinched and backed away as if hit. She started to leave the drawing room but turned back abruptly. She swiped up the portraits and cradled them close to her as she fled. She turned back and said, "I know you don't like me and I accept that. I know that we've inconvenience you and I am so sorry. But we can help you, I'm sure of it." She backed away, carefully moving into the foyer and checking to see if anyone else was around. "And I'm so sorry about Julia. She loved you so."

Barnabas dropped his head. "Yes," he mumbled. "Yes, I know."

January 4, 2001, The Old House, 9:55 AM

Cameron could hear them calling him, raucous angry voices that seemed to scream for him. He opened his eyes and saw them coming through the brush. His step-father led the group, a large portion of his leg gone as he hobbled forward. His half-sisters flanked their father, their mutilated pubescent bodies floundering as they moved. Behind them stood Alyssa. She looked no better than the others, deep lacerations from her scalp to her torso continuing to bleed though other more colorful juices had began to flow from the wounds as well. Nameless others surrounded them, their bodies in various degrees of decay and degradation. The only person absent was his mother. Soon Sabrina Stuart wandered out from behind the bushes, her body ruined by injury and decay. She walked towards him, arms extended for a bloody embrace.

Cameron could not stand it. He leapt to his feet and ran, looking back occasionally to find the gang gaining on him. His mind became frantic and frayed as he pondered what they might do to him, flashes of every George Romero movie he ever saw funneling through his head and forcing him to pick up the pace. Soon he saw it, a large fortress of a home just beyond his reach. His thighs throbbed and broken blisters bled on the soles of his feet. Cameron believed he would not reach his safe haven but the churlish voices of the dead urging him forward. He soon reached the front door and pummeled it with his fists. The door was answered by a lovely young blonde woman, her long hair hidden under a white maids cap. Her blue dress seemed ancient to Cameron but he knew her, though he did not know from where. "Beth?" he asked. "Oh Beth, you have to help me, I..."

"Come in," she said calmly. "They have been expecting you."

Beth took Cameron's trembling hand and brought him inside. The house seemed stuck in the 19th century. It reminded him of the grand old homes he had toured on the coast. He turned to Beth to ask her about the house but she had disappeared. Cameron caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and yelped. His clothing had jumped centuries, a brown frock coat and pants replacing his sweater and jeans. Just as he reached out to touch the image, he saw a figure emerge from behind his own. "Angelique," he whispered. He turned to face her, pleased to see a familiar face although the clothes were unfamiliar. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"In time," she purred. Angelique took Cameron's hand and pointed towards the closed double doors. "They'll know more in there."

Cameron nodded and cautiously walked through the doors. In front of the fireplace stood Barnabas Collins, his eyes downcast and aimed at the fire. In front of a large window sat Constance DuVane, the folds of her blood red dress splayed across the floor as her fingers fumbled the silken material. At the piano sat a lilac clad Astrid Douglas, her face emotionless as she played "Pathetique" to her inattentive audience. The person who truly captured Cameron's attention was the man sitting on the sofa. The stranger had Cameron's face and build, the only real difference between them being their colorings. As Cameron began to speak, Constance noticed him. "Cameron darling! Come in. You're just in time."

Cameron froze as she approached him, a cold sweat easing down his back in reaction to her touch and their stares. The man had the most dramatic reaction, his eyes widening and filling with tears when Constance sat Cameron next to him. Astrid jumped from the bench and closed the doors. When she stood next to her mother, Cameron fully began to appreciate their exact resemblance. "Will he return now?" she excitedly asked her mother.

"I believe so," said Constance.

"You're grasping at air," sniped Barnabas. "When will you accept that Quentin will never return!"

"Does it matter?" cried the man. "This will never end."

"Yes!" said Constance. She took the man's hand in hers and looked into his eyes. He calmed instantly. "It will end!"

"If you say so," mumbled the man.

Barnabas groaned and sat in front of the fire. Constance ignored him and took a seat at the piano. Astrid followed her and they began to play, Constance acting as the left hand and Astrid as the right. The man looked around the room aimlessly, looking away the moment his eyes would land on Cameron. Cameron's eyes focused on the window. As it cracked open, he yelped.

No one looked back to him. All activity stopped as their eyes shifted to the window. A man walked in. It took Cameron only a moment to realize that it was the man from the portrait. Constance and Astrid jumped up immediately. Constance ran ahead and stopped in front of the man. Astrid ran into Constance and merged with her, her body disappearing into her mother's. Constance then ran into his arms and kissed him. "You've returned," she whispered. "I wasn't sure you would."

He entwined her fingers in her hair and kissed her once again. "Why wouldn't I return?"

"Why would Quentin Collins keep a promise?" asked the man coolly.

Quentin glanced awkwardly at the man, his mouth twisting into a disarming smile. "And why would Chris Jennings ever be happy?"

"It has something to do with the full moon," mumbled Barnabas.

Quentin laughed and pulled Constance closer. "And you believe we can cure you and the boy."

"Can you?" asked Cameron.

"What do you think?" asked Constance.

Cameron closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was in the mildewing room at the Old House. The music from his headphones blared, the words of "I Woke Up in a Strange Place" vibrating in his teeth. "Understatement of the year," he mumbled as he leapt from the bed. He wandered toward the window and stood still. A man was staring up at him from the ground below, snow and dust clinging to his dark blue overcoat. Cameron could have sworn that it was the man from his dream, Quentin Collins. The man looked away and walked on.

Cameron ran from his room and burned a path through the house to the foyer. He almost tumbled down the stairs before stepping out partially clothed into the chill. He saw no trace of the man. He did, however, feel every prickle of January freeze prick his unaccustomed skin. He ran back inside to find Angelique waiting with a blanket in her arms. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Um...nothing. Is there a fire going?"

"Yes. Follow me." They walked into the drawing room and took seats in front of the fireplace. Cameron wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and dug inside his pants pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Angelique and, upon her polite refusal, lit up and inhaled deeply. Angelique looked back to him and asked, "What's really wrong?"

Cameron could not help but smile. Everyone seemed to realize that he was troubled. "I saw a man outside my window," he mumbled through the smoke.

"The man from the bar?"

"No. Have you seen the portrait of Astrid's ancestor? He looked like him, and I mean carbon copy duplication."

Angelique held her breath. When she released it, she seemed to grow faint. She recovered quickly, however, and moved closer to Cameron. "Are you sure it was THAT man?"

"Couldn't be him although he was in my dream."

"Tell it to me." Cameron mumbled out the details of the dream, forgetting to gloss over the gruesome beginning. He looked back shyly to Angelique and asked, "What does it mean?"

Angelique seemed troubled at first but her mouth soon eased into a smile. "It's a combination of bad horror films and the new things you've experienced. It means nothing."

"Are you sure?" Angelique nodded. "Good because it really freaked me out."

"I'm glad that I could help." Angelique took his hand and asked, "Did you mean what you said about Kelene, about how you would be with her if you could?"

"You heard? Well, yes...I'd be with her if I could."

Angelique smiled. She dug inside her pocket and retrieved a silver chain with a pentagram linked to it. She placed it in Cameron's hand and said, "Send it to her. It's a good luck charm."

Cameron thanked her and slipped the chain inside is pocket. If it really was a good luck charm he WOULD send it to Kelene. They needed all the luck they could find. It was then that he noticed that they were the only people in the house. "Hey! Where are the others?"

"They all have work to do." Angelique patted his hand and said, "You'll have to excuse me but I have a call to make."

January 4, 2001, Windcliffe Sanitarium, 10:50 AM

"What do you mean 'he saw him?'" asked Constance, her voice modulated to a whisper.

"I mean that Cameron saw Quentin on the grounds," explained Angelique.

Constance sighed and pressed her back into the cool sanitarium walls. The professionals milled around her, no one bothering her as they went about their business. "You don't know how badly I want to explore this, but I'm having a little problem here. It seems that someone is trying to move Chris to another facility without my permission."

"Do you know who is trying to do this?"

"No clue. Why is Windcliffe letting him do this? They know that I work with Julia. He's my patient, dammit!"

"I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding," said Angelique.

"Maybe so but it's still disturbing. Listen, I'll return later tonight. Can you keep an eye on Cameron?"

"Yes but a friend of mine might visit."

"Not Josef!"

"Not hardly! But you do know him."

Constance giggled as she turned into the nearest corner. "Fine. We'll talk later, okay? The doctor is coming."

"All right. Good luck. If I find Quentin, I'll attempt to retain him."

"Sure." Constance rammed the phone inside her coat and turned to face the doctor. He looked like a sensitive young man. She felt sorry for him. The man was as tall as her, making it easy to make eye contact and therefore control him. "I don't mean to be rude, but what is going on? It was pre-determined that I would take the patient from Dr. Hoffman. I want to know why you're doing this."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Amala," he whispered, "but Dr. Garrick claimed that he had worked with you before."

"Who is Dr. Garrick?" demanded Constance. "Where is he? I want to speak to him now!"

The doctor swallowed hard and fled in search of Dr. Garrick. As Constance waited for him to return, she wandered how Julia dealt with such idiocy. She would have to remember to ask Barnabas if she had complained to him before. "God, I should have known it would be him." Constance watched as the man emerged, walking slightly in front of the doctor as they approached her. "Dr. Garrick, I don't believe. I've had the pleasure," she snarled.

Josef smiled, causing the smooth fine lines of his face to broaden deviously. "I heard about the patient you're going to take on from the late Dr. Hoffman and I wanted to see if I could be of assistance to the famed Dr. Brigit Amala."

"I don't need any help."

"Really? I've looked at Jennings' charts and I can tell that's one sick puppy."

"But he has improved. If I continued Dr. Hoffman's regimen, he might go into remission. I don't need you to help me."

The young doctor detected her frustration and stepped between them. "I know that this is short notice for you, Dr. Amala, but Felix Garrick is an expert is an expert in his field. You might want to work with him."

"I'm capable of doing this on my own!" insisted Constance.

"Listen," whispered the young doctor. "This is temporary. The new powers that be see Mr. Jennings as a recovering case and want him out. They want someone to say that they can release him into the population. You have more clout. If you say Jennings needs to continue to be hospitalized, they'll follow your recommendation."

"Fine," she groaned. "We'll do this...just this once."

The young doctor nodded. He did not notice that Josef was grinning wildly at this point, his mouth easing the moment the doctor looked at him. The moment the young doctor left, Josef slipped in next to Constance, whispering, "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"Don't be so sure," snarled Constance. "Do you have no shame?"

Josef shrugged. He turned away from Constance and said, "Shall we go meet OUR patient?"

Constance shot out ahead of Josef, hoping that he would get the message and walk behind her. Josef ran up to her side, moving so close to her that their shoulders brushed. When he stretched to wrap his arm around her waist, Constance slapped him back. Josef giggled as he retracted his hand and shoved it into his pocket. She could not believe that Josef dared to be so brazen. After all that had passed between them, he had dared to reenter her life and attempt to ruin her plans. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm following my moral compass and not my genitalia as you so often do," explained Josef coldly. "I honestly don't see why you've come here. What are you planning to do?"

"I want to help him."

"Do you mean in the way you helped Corrin or in the way you helped Quentin?"

"Why don't you shut up?" snapped Constance.

"Why don't you give up your silly mission and accept that Quentin is dead and he's never coming back? Why don't you grow up and accept your true nature?"

"You mean work with you?"

Josef smiled. "We had some wonderful experiences. It could be that way again."

"I'd rather chew lead."

"Suit yourself."

"I always do." They stopped in front of the door, waiting patiently for the attendant to unlock it. The young man quickly arrived, fumbling through an impressive loop of keys until he happened upon the right one. Constance pushed past Josef and began to access the room. It was practically bare, containing only a bed and three chairs. When she saw Christopher Jennings, she gasped. She turned back to Josef, who looked just as shocked. "What's going on here?" she snarled.

"I don't know," he whispered. "Why does he look so young?"

Constance shuddered and turned to Jennings. Physically, he looked no different from the picture she had from the late 60s. She wondered what Julia was pumping into him. With briefcase in hand, she hesitantly pulled a seat up to Chris, who had failed to notice them enter. "Chris," she said softly. "I'm here to help."

Chris looked over to her mournfully, seeming to beg her with his eyes to put him out of his misery. He made her feel guilty for not doing something sooner, that she had been too wrapped up in herself to help those who truly needed her. She did her best to ignore Josef as he snickered in the corner. Constance dismissed the attendant and returned her attention to Chris. "Aren't you afraid?" he asked softly.

"No, I'm not afraid of you."

Chris smiled weakly. "Can I trust you?"

"I want to think that you can." Constance leaned in closer and said, "I want you to understand that I know exactly what your problem is."

"How?" he asked. "You can't really know. Who told you?"

"It's all right, Chris. Dr. Hoffman told me as did a friend of mine. You know him as well. He felt badly for you. I know why you suffer and I want to work on a way to stop your agony."

Chris seemed to understand. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it tightly and shot from the bed and then moved into the far corner of the room. Constance turned to see that Josef had risen and walked towards Chris, a revolver aimed at Chris' head. She grabbed Josef by the arm and flung him to the ground. She kicked the revolver from his hand and sat spread eagle on his chest. "Why do you insist on being such an idiot?"

"Give it up, Constance!" screamed Josef. "You couldn't help Quentin. How can you help this poor bastard?"

Constance rose from Josef's chest and walked to the door. She opened it before he could realize what she going to do and screamed, "Help! Help! Garrick has a gun!" The attendants stormed in to see Josef with the gun. Constance repressed her laughter as 6 attendants carried a struggling Josef from the room. The young doctor came to ask if anyone had been injured. Constance assured him that all were well and politely asked him to leave. The doctor reluctantly left and, to Constance's delight, locked them inside. She turned to meet Chris' wide-eyed stare. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "He's not my friend and I don't know why he tried such a thing."

Chris only shook his head. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"What?"

"You're Constance DuVane. You're alive," he said.

"Yes."

"And Quentin?" he snarled. "Is he alive?"

"In a sense," said Constance. "The portrait continues to age but we can't find a physical trace of him."

Chris' face instantly crumbled, his eyes filling with terror before he buried his face in his hands. "I should have known. This had nothing to do with my, does it? It never has. It's all about Quentin, isn't it? No matter what he does, someone will always adore him. You want to use me to help him and I won't be a party to this!"

"No!" Constance slowly approached Chris, careful not to seem angry or foreboding as she moved. "You're wrong. Yes, I want to find Quentin but that doesn't mean that I don't want to cure you or your son."

"I don't have a son," he said, pulling himself tighter into the corner. "Sabrina tried to convince me of it but I knew that I had left her over a year before the child was born. I left her after Amy died. I wouldn't do to Sabrina what I did to Amy."

Constance walked back to her briefcase and retrieved the picture. She handed Chris the picture, watching as his eyes grew wide and filled with tears. Constance took the picture from him and rammed it into her coat pocket before taking a seat next to Chris. "His name is Cameron. I think he's 28 or close to it. He's a nice young man. He's your son but you didn't do the deed to start it. Josef did."

"That's impossible. Who is Josef?"

"The walking turkey baster who was removed from the room is Josef. You had a one night stand with a woman in 1972. That was Josef too," explained Constance. "Josef posed as you and impregnated Sabrina with your seed. He could do this because he is an incubus. I know this because I am a succubus. I've known Josef all my life and I know he would happily perpetrate the crimes he had committed against you. You're not to blame Chris."

Chris did not say anything immediately, giving himself some time to digest the information. He looked back up at Constance and asked, "What about Sabrina? How is she?" Her hesitation became is answer. "So I see. Did you know that I almost killed her during a transformation? She thought she was immune from the wolf attacks because she lived. I suppose she found out the hard way that she wasn't."

"It's not his fault."

"I know," snapped Chris. "It's Quentin's fault. He cursed his sons to his existence while he gets a free rid."

"Quentin has suffered!" insisted Constance. "Neither of us can imagine his pain."

"I'm sorry Ms. DuVane, but you can't convince me of that."

Constance sighed. This was what she had expected. If she had been in Chris' position, she would probably feel the same way. "Let's drop the subject. Tell me, how are you doing?"

"As well as to be expected."

"You look great."

"You mean 'great' for someone approaching 60 who's icky from institution life."

"Something tells me they hide you from the mirrors." Chris's confused look made her run back to her briefcase and retrieve a compact. His eyes went wide when he saw his reflection. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Chris nodded. "I know that you're being medicated. What are you taking?"

"I don't know what you call it. I get two injections a day of this red stuff." Chris hesitated before saying, "Julia put me on this stuff."

"Julia?"

"Yeah. I've been taking it for the past 8 years. I swear to you that it works. I used to change at a moment's notice but the injections stopped that instantly. I only change with the moon now. I feel so good after taking them, just energized and ready for whatever will come, although that's not much in Windcliffe. Julia saved my life."

Constance could only nod. She wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Chris that Julia had died. "When was the last time you spoke to Julia."

"About a month ago."

"A month?"

"Yeah. Julia said that she had a new theory on how to cure me but she wasn't quite sure about it. She said she'd come back to me once everything was ready." Chris' face brightened as he leaned in and asked, "Is it ready?"

"I wouldn't know," lied Constance. "We aren't working with the same theories. I think that if I can find Quentin and fix him, then I can cure you and Cameron."

"What do you need to do this?"

"Well, I need Quentin and the ring of Count Petofi."

"I can't help you there," sighed Chris.

"You can help but you don't know it."

"Explain."

Constance ran to her briefcase and took out a few papers. She knelt next to Chris and said, "These papers will get you out of Windcliffe and put you into my 'care.' I'll put you up in the Collinsport Inn, get you a car, and set you up with some money for the time being. You'll help me look for Quentin."

"Can't I look for the ring instead?"

"The ring is probably on the body. Listen, I know you don't like him. If our roles were reversed, I'd probably hate him too. But I don't and neither should you. Your hate will only prolong your pain. Now are you with me or are you going to stay here."

"I'll don anything to get out of here!"

"That's a start." Constance hugged Chris before leaping to her feet. He did not feel right to her. She could feel some other force inside him besides the wolf. Was it because of the injections. If Julia had been here, she would have asked. How did Chris talk to Julia a month ago if she had been dead three months? There were too many questions and Constance did not know where to begin to look for the answers. She would have to talk to Barnabas once she returned to the Old House. She had to worry about Chris now. She knocked on the door and waited for the attendant to arrive. When he opened the door, Constance flashed him the papers, saying, "I need to talk to that doctor. I'm claiming my patient."

January 5, 2001, The Old House, 11:42 PM

"I can't believe that you have filled his mind with such nonsense!" chided Barnabas. "Chris is dear to me and I don't want you to hurt him."

Constance ignored him. She sat horizontally on the ancient loveseat, a small crystal ashtray lying in her lap to collect the soot from the cigarette Cameron had given her. Barnabas thought it smelled of burning leaves. It did not matter. She was acting openly insolent to him in his own home and he did not appreciate it. "I'm not trying to harm him," she said calmly. "I honestly want to help him."

"What do you gain?"

"Peace of mind. These men are suffering and I think I can help."

Barnabas groaned and turned away. He could not look at her anymore. He almost felt sorry for Constance, who seemed trapped in a fantasy world. Barnabas could not deny that Quentin would return to her but he knew that Quentin would not be as she wanted him. Barnabas knew that they never would be the same. He turned back to her and said, "Move on! Find someone else and begin again."

Constance did not reply quickly. She rose from her seat and emptied the ashtray in the fireplace. When she turned back to Barnabas he could see her anger. She stormed up to him and asked, "How easy do you think it is to find another? You wake up and there's always some chick ready for you. I've been without Quentin almost 25 years. It took me over 400 years to find Quentin. He wants back into this world and I gladly help him."

"Let him find the light!"

"The body is still alive. A soul can't move on while the body lives."

"You can fix that."

Constance backed away. Had he not known her better, Barnabas could swear her eyes were filling with tears. "You're saying that I should kill Quentin," she whimpered.

"No...no I'm not," stammered Barnabas.

"Yes you are!" cried Constance, the tears now flowing freely. "You're saying that I should destroy the portrait to kill the body."

"Quentin would want to be free. I knew him longer than you. I think I know what he would want."

"I spent much more time with him. He told me things you can't fathom. How dare you say you know him better?"

Barnabas watched as Constance stumbled back onto the loveseat and buried her head in her hands. He began to move towards her as Angelique and Cameron descended the stairs. Angelique ran to Constance, attempting to comfort her as she moaned about Barnabas wanted her to kill Quentin. Cameron could not understand the situation so he played the concerned bystander, watching as Angelique helped Constance to her feet. Constance pulled away and ripped her cell phone from her coat, dialing some number as she stormed from the building with Cameron in tow. Barnabas was alone with Angelique. He knew this conversation would not be pleasant. "I can explain," he said. "It's not what you think."

"You told Constance to kill Quentin," said Angelique. "I don't see the misunderstanding."

"Maybe it's the right thing for all involved. Maybe he should be placed to rest."

"It wouldn't be good for Constance. She thinks she can pull this off and I have no right to say otherwise."

"But you do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"Yes and it's sad," replied Angelique. "You're taunting Constance when she doesn't deserve it. Why do you bother her?"

"Because it is for her own good. She needs to let go and move on."

Angelique sighed and moved away. "I with you could understand how she feels. She believes that she can have Quentin again. I don't know if she can but she thinks she can. She's running on emotion, not reason. You ought to understand."

"I do understand what she is going through! She's in pain and I sympathize with her. That doesn't mean that I think it's right for her to dwell in her pain. I think it would be better for her if she forgot about Quentin, forgot about the family, and moved on with her life. Everyone survived perfectly well when we had no knowledge of one another we and we will survive just as well after we've gone our separate ways," said Barnabas.

"You didn't always think such things. What has changed your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

Angelique looked as she approached him. "Don't play innocent with me. You searched for Josette until her ghost told you to move on. You were just as persistent with Vicki, Roxanne, and...well, me. It's too bad that you didn't love Julia enough to obsess."

"You don't understand: I do love her!"

"You could never prove that to me. I have seen no signs of affection on your end of that relationship," sniped Angelique. "You probably let Julia die alone while you were trying to contact Roxanne via séance."

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Then how did Julia die?"

Barnabas stepped back, quietly contemplating whether or not to tell her. He swallowed and said, "I killed her."

Angelique shuddered and stepped back a step. Both she and Barnabas turned towards the foyer to see Constance at the stairwell, her eyes large with disbelief. She quickly looked away and ran up the stairs. A few minutes later she ran back down, the duplicate portrait of Quentin Collins in her arms. She did not turn back as she ran out the door. Barnabas had not expected her to say anything. He had expected Angelique to speak although she waited for Constance to leave the building. The entire time she had stared at him, her face frozen, unreadable. "You killed Julia?" she finally whispered.

"I drained her gradually until she died."

"Then Dr. Hoffman is a vampire?"

"Yes," sighed Barnabas.

"Did you stake her?" asked Angelique.

"No...she is chained inside her coffin. It's next to mine."

"Why?" Angelique backed away and took a seat on the loveseat. "It's sadistic. Julia had fairly good self control. Why would you have to restrain her?"

"I couldn't let this spread." Barnabas took a seat across from Angelique. He had yet to tell anyone the story behind Julia's death. He supposed that this woman, the one who knew him best, was the only suitable person to tell. "I don't know why I regressed but I did about 10 years ago. Julia began the injections again but they didn't work. As before, I was forced the scourer the docks for victims. About a year ago, Julia tried to stop me and I bit her."

"How long did it take?"

"It was stretched out over a month. I drank from her every third day. I actually enjoyed the wait, letting my hunger for her build until I could take it no more. I didn't want to kill her but I wanted her with me. When I finally killed her, I became scared. I didn't want her to suffer as I do but I couldn't kill her. The only person I could trust to do it was Willie, but I can't bring him back into this world. Likewise, I could bring in no one new. So the next night, Julia rose as a vampire."

"What was the problem?"

"Julia surprised me by becoming so enthralled with life as one of the living dead. She saw the world as it really was and it enchanted her. The world enchanted her and I no longer did. She wanted a new mate and she had a candidate. She had been treating Chris for 10 years. Her best effort was injecting him with vampire's blood and these injections regulated his transformation. She thought that Chris might enjoy life as a vampire over life as a werewolf. It horrified me that she would even consider this. Did she not remember how tom reacted to the change? I stopped her the only way I knew how: I woke before Julia and chained her inside her coffin."

Angelique did not speak. She would look between Barnabas, the metal door, and the foyer, seeming to want to be interrupted once again. She eventually looked back to him and said, "You were jealous and you chained her up! Oh God, it's mad. You never know that you love a woman until she's left you or this world."

Barnabas looked away. Angelique was right: he could not realize what he possessed until he lost it. He could always let Julia out but she would be a threat to the newly released Chris. He was jarred out of his trance by the roar of a motor. Cameron walked in and waved to whomever had left. He nonchalantly walked into the drawing room, glancing awkwardly between the sad duo. "What happened?" asked Barnabas.

"Astrid left with some guy. She said she was going to Collinwood to give them the portrait and to pick up a few things." Cameron turned innocently to Barnabas and asked, "Where's Collinwood?"

"It's on the estate."

Cameron mouthed a quiet "oh." He looked between Angelique and Barnabas and asked, "What's wrong? Did I interrupt something important?"

"No," snarled Angelique, her eyes burrowing into Barnabas. "We're just having a recurring problem. You, dear Cameron, are not to blame."

Angelique took Cameron's hand and led him from the room. Barnabas knew why she was ostracizing him. He did not blame her. He knew that he deserved it. He could end the angry stares by releasing Julia but he could not do it. One vampire was all Collinsport could handle.

January 6-7, 2001, Collinsport Inn/Collinwood/Rose Cottage

Constance could not stay in that house one moment longer. She had called Chris, begging him to pick her up and help her take the portrait to Collinwood. She could have done this on her own but she did not want to be alone. However, they did not go straight to Collinwood, choosing to drive around in virtual silence until 10:00 AM. They stopped at the Collinsport Inn and had coffee, the diner completely empty except for them and the waitress. "We can't be like this," she whispered. "I want you to talk to me."

Chris stared at her a moment, cigarette in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. "I've been thinking," he finally murmured, "thinking about the fates of everyone I used to know. Carolyn and Joe are married and have three kids. Maggie and Willie are married and they too have three kids. David has four kids between two women."

"He drove Hallie to the bottle, divorced her, and married the much younger Maryam Chandler, who's given birth the bulk of the kids," added Constance.

"I see you've done your homework too." Chris leaned in closer to Constance, his eyes bravely meeting hers. "Do you also envy them?"

"Why?"

"They have been allowed to move on. You and I are stuck in our respective pasts. Why? Don't we deserve to move on, to have answers, to have lives outside of his Hell!" Chris fell back into his chair, finishing of his cigarette and lighting another immediately. "I came back here 33 years ago to find out about my brother and to cure myself. I've made little to no progress on either front in over 30 years. Do you know how bad that feels?"

"I never heard about your brother."

"He died under mysterious circumstances."

"Well, once this is all over, I can help you," offered Constance.

"Won't you be ready to move on after all this is over?"

"Yes but it won't hurt to help you." Constance reached across the table and took Chris' hand into hers. "You seem to think that, had things gone differently, I wouldn't be here. You weren't the only one who was supposed to have a future. Had it not been for some heinous meddling, I would have had a 24 year old who would either be a carrier or a sufferer of Quentin's curse. More than likely, you and I would be working towards the same goals. We all have things we have to move beyond. I want to help you." Chris nodded and moved in closer, his face easing towards hers. Constance looked away and checked her watch. "It's 10:30. We need to go to Collinwood."

Chris nodded and they left. Constance could tell he was embarrassed. She could not alleviate his pain, though. She knew that some triangles are best left not built. She could barely look at Chris. The only time she did, she noticed that the sunlight seemed to giving him much hassle. Constance pilfered through her purse and retrieved a pair of sunglasses, which Chris accepted wordlessly. Neither of them spoke the rest of the ride back to Collinwood.

Constance felt uncomfortable once they were at the door to Collinwood. This was the trip she had not wanted to take. If it were not for Quentin, she would have remained away. With him in mind, she knocked at the door. After a few minutes, a lovely young man answered the door. Constance knew that he could be no older than 22. "Hello," she purred. "I am Astrid Douglas. This is my companion Timothy Bell. I called earlier. I've brought it."

The young man's smile broadened as he ushered them inside. "Hello," he said, his voice rich, melodic. "I'm Vaughn."

"Vaughn?" asked Constance.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Vaughn Haskell. I assumed you would know. I'm sorry."

"No need for that." Constance could not help but stare at him. A certain piece of her could not believe that Carolyn, who could have married Josef years before, now had an adult son. The mere thought of the botched marriage made her want to laugh. That debacle had been the last laugh she had had in Collinsport. But she knew it was best not to laugh, best not to look foolish in front of the shy young man. She decided to jump to the reason for her visit. She tapped the antique frame with black lacquered nails as she said, "This is it."

"And in return, you'd like to go through your father's things?" asked Vaughn.

"Yes."

"Sounds more than fair to me. Of course, you'll have to clear it with my mom. She is mistress of the house."

"Of course." Constance followed as Vaughn led she and Chris into the drawing room. At the piano sat a dark blonde woman who was almost reminiscent of her mother. At the fireplace sat her male counterpart, his eyes landing solely on Constance. "Excuse me," she said. "Is your mother in?"

"She's behind you." Constance spun on her heels to see Carolyn in the doorway. She had obviously matured, a sophisticated woman replacing the wild child Constance had known. Yet Carolyn still had the privileged look in her eyes, the degrading stares that made Constance feel unworthy. She had seen that look at least once in the eyes of almost every Collins she had ever met. Only on Carolyn did this look seem lethal. Carolyn seemed stunned for a moment, her eyes studying Chris before she introduced her remaining children, Ariel and Hunter. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Astrid. It's a shame that we did not meet under more favorable circumstances."

"I quite agree, Mrs. Haskell." Constance watched as Hunter sprung from his perch and sat a chair next to her. She thanked him profusely and sat Quentin's portrait in the chair. When she removed the sheet, she was shocked by Carolyn's expression. She began praying to every deity she had ever heard of to reassure her that she had taken the reproduction and not Quentin's actual portrait. "Wh...what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," sniffled Carolyn. She dabbed her eye with an ornate handkerchief and turned to Constance. "Have you noticed how much you father resembled this man?"

"Yes. It's really quite shocking."

Carolyn nodded. The demonic gleam leapt into her eyes as she asked. "How do you know that this is the original Tate and not a knock-off."

Constance repressed her groans. Leave it to Carolyn to want authentication. "Mr. Bell is an expert in late 19th Century American art." Constance turned to Chris, saying, "You can authenticate this, can't you Tim?"

Chris smiled weakly and walked in front of the portrait. Constance did not know if he could pull it off, but she hoped that he could bluff his way through it. "I've always thought Tate a traditionalist," said Chris, his voice finding a tone of faux authority. "While the rest of the world was experimenting with light and texture, Tate used the same techniques used by artist for years, centuries even. See the brushstrokes? Traditional. Besides, the signature is the way Tate always signed it. This is an original, no doubt about it."

"Really?" Carolyn approached the portrait and stroked the frame. "And you're willing to give us this portrait."

"Yes and in return, I want access to my father's things."

"That's fair." She turned away but turned back. It shocked Constance to see the sincere sympathy spread through Carolyn's features. "Where are you staying, Astrid?"

"I...I don't know."

"Then please stay with us." Carolyn turned to Chris and slyly asked, "Will you stay too?"

"No thank you," murmured Chris. "I have a place to stay. I'm much better acquainted with Collinsport than Astrid."

"Very well. Astrid, I'll have a room prepared...or would you prefer to stay in Quentin's room."

"I would."

"Fine but I must warn you that the west wing becomes extremely cold at night. Will that bother you?"

"No. The cold has never bothered me."

"It never bothered your mother either." Carolyn shuddered quietly. "Your mother was a strange woman. I didn't mean to be rude." She smiled awkwardly a she said, "I'll take you to his room. You'll find it rather peaceful in the west wing. No one lives there anymore. Come to think of it, the only person I can remember living there is Quentin."

Constance was not listening to her. She was longing to enter Quentin's room, to feel the things he had touched and possibly feel his presence amongst his belongings. She did not want to be with Chris if it happened. She wanted to be alone and let the warmth wash over her in peace. But she knew that she needed Chris for the time being. It was best not to piss off her helper.

Carolyn unlocked and opened the door, allowing it to swing open on rusted hinges. "Here you go. It might be a little dusty but the room is as Quentin left it."

Constance nodded and stepped in. The room was as she remembered it, only now covered in grainy dust. Before Carolyn left, Constance made the announcement she knew would be mildly controversial. "I'm taking the gramophone with me." Carolyn's eyes widened and she left the room. Constance pulled Chris inside the room and locked the door. "Take anything that is distinctly Quentin."

"All right." Chris walked to the window and asked, "Do you think she'll stop you from taking the gramophone?"

"I'd like to watch her stop me," mumbled Constance. They said nothing else as they piled objects on the bed. She did not know what to tell Chris. Could she cure him? There was a good possibility that she could. Could she give him his life back? Not a chance. She wanted him to find peace but he would not find peace with her. "Chris," she whispered. "What will you do once this is over?"

"I don't know," he answered in monotone. "I don't know what I can do."

"What did you do before?"

"I wrote."

"The profession of the lost," sighed Constance. She took a seat on the bed and looked back up at Chris. "Should I give you more money?"

"No."

"What if I arranged for you to have a job?"

"No!" Chris knelt in front of Constance and said, "You're not offering me what I want."

"And I can't give you that."

Chris sighed and sat against the bed. "I suppose you can't. It's perfectly fine. I shouldn't have asked."

"No you shouldn't have." Constance slipped from the bed and placed her hand on Chris' shoulder. "Listen, I'll help you as best I can but the rest is up to you."

"I know that," said Chris anxiously. "I'm just not sure if I can live again."

"We do what we can." Constance checked her watch, glad to have a reason to turn away. "It's almost midnight. I'll help you take this stuff to the car and you can take it to the Old House. Then go back into town and get some sleep. You need it. I'll call you, okay."

"That's fine." Chris looked over to her, careful not to show any emotion on his face. "What do you want me to do about looking for Quentin?"

"I still want you too look for him."

"I'm just saying that I can only check the docks and the Blue Whale so many times."

"Very funny, Chris," snapped Constance. "Just check anywhere."

Chris nodded and rose to his feet. "I was thinking about following that Josef character you were talking about at Windcliffe," he said as he began to pick up some of the things from the bed.

"I thought the authorities would have him after that stunt he pulled a few days ago."

"Well, the Collinsport boys in blue aren't the most efficient at keeping the bad guys under wraps. Listen, he attempted to drug Cameron and he tried to shoot me. The next person to attack next is obviously Quentin."

"True. I wish I had thought of that." She looked up at Chris, who tried his best to pay her no mind. "You're proving yourself most useful."

"I do my best, Constance." He helped her to her feet and kissed her hand. "But you don't really care about that, do you?"

"I might not, but you'll see that someone does...someday."

"That's not reassuring."

"Then don't come to me. I'm not keen on reassuring anyone of anything," said Constance, her arms full of trinkets. She unlocked the door clumsily and held the door for Chris. When he walked by, she whispered, "Don't look to family for what's best gotten from strangers."

"You're not really my family."

"Lets pretend I am." Constance kicked Chris' shin and they left the room, arms full of things they probably would not need.

After removing the chosen wares from the room, Constance trudged back to the west wing, slightly saddened as she entered Quentin's room. The room was freezing cold. She would have lit a fire had she been able to find the grate for the fireplace. Since she could not, she buttoned her coat and climbed into bed with her boots on. As she lay there she began to feel warmth envelop her and she soon eased into sleep. As she slept, she imagined herself in the hammock again, the sun warming her body as she rocked in Quentin's arms.

Constance awoke to sharp knocking at the door. As she rose to answer, she realized that her coat was laying neatly across a chair. She smiled briefly for Quentin and answered the door. "Hello Vaughn."

"I'm sorry to bother you but you've been invited to Rose Cottage."

"Why?"

"Maggie Loomis wants you to come to late dinner," answered Vaughn.

"How did she know that I was here?"

"I let it slip while I was talking to Drusilla, her youngest daughter. Maggie knew your parents and she wants to meet you."

Constance could not repress her grin. She would see an old friend although she was being deceptive to do so. "I'll go."

"Good. I'll take you around 8 o'clock. You don't know how much Maggie wants to see you."

Constance later understood. Maggie practically jumped her as she walked through the door, hugging her tighter than anyone had in awhile. "You're so lovely," she cooed. "You look just like your mother."

"Is that good?"

"Your mother was a wonderful woman. I wish you could have known her and your father."

"So do I." Constance listened as Maggie told her about how she and Willie restored Rose Cottage and how this job led to a profitable restoration business. Willie was in Bangor consulting. Drusilla sat at the stairwell with Vaughn, appearing closer than Constance had imagined they would be. Saul, the middle son, was at college. Andrew, the 28 year old who Constance had once held in her arms, would return with his girlfriend. She was shocked when she saw them. As she had expected, Andrew had grown into an attractive man. His girlfriend was the shock. She pulled the blonde into the parlor and locked the doors. "Angelique! Is he your 'friend' from before?"

"Maybe," purred Angelique. Her face suddenly became serious and she asked, "Did you find what you needed in Quentin's room?"

"I don't know. Don't change the subject!" Constance walked closer to Angelique, her lips brushing her ear as she asked, "How did you meet?"

"I met Andrew a year ago. I didn't recognize him but much changes in 27 years. For Andrew, at least, the changes were for the better. He introduced himself, I treated him to lunch, he treated me to dinner, and..."

"You helped yourselves to dessert?" Angelique smiled. "God! All of this is bizarre. Get this: Chris likes me the wrong way."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know! I don't know what to do with Chris. I don't know what to do with Cameron. I don't know where Quentin is. This is daunting. They are one fucked up family."

They said nothing more on the subject. Drusilla fetched them and soon they were all gathered around the table, the couples on the sides with Constance and Maggie facing one another on the ends. She could not remember eating anything, choosing to drink red wine and listen to the others chatter. Thankfully, none of it turned to her "family" and Constance enjoyed herself for the first time in months. For 4 hours, she was able to forget her mission and just exist.

Constance left Rose Cottage alone. Angelique and Vaughn were too intoxicated to help her home. Maggie had offered Constance a room for the night but she declined. The moment she stepped outside, she wished she had stayed. Through the bare tree limbs she could see the nearly full moon. She was no closer to curing the Jennings father and son than she been before arriving in Collinsport. Constance hated to admit defeat but she felt that she had no choice. She felt as if she had wasted 25 years searching for something long gone.

Constance ran through the hibernating woods, slipping through the snow as she headed back to Collinwood. the trek differed greatly from the one she had made with Quentin 29 years before. That trip had been stressful but rewarding because they later admitted their secrets and confirmed their love for one another. This trip would be much more painful, knowing she would have to walk those steps alone this time. But Constance realized too quickly that she was not alone. She turned around to see a young woman emerge from behind a tree. She was a petite young thing, possibly five-one and no older than 20. "Who are you?" demanded Constance.

"I am Kelene Sheridan." She walked towards Constance, her hands rammed in an over-sized trench coat. She looked worried, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "I'm here to see Cameron Stuart. Do you know where I can find him?"

Constance moved closer to Kelene but backed away. She felt bizarre, muted vibrations from Kelene. Constance had a theory but she did not want to verify if. "Tell me what you want and I'll tell you where to find Cameron."

Kelene groaned. She leaned on the nearest tree and wrapped her arms around the trunk. "I'm pregnant with Cameron's child. Will you tell me where he is now?"

"Another werewolf, great," she muttered softly. Constance moved closer to Kelene. The girl's fear rose from her skin. "I'll take you where Cameron is living. I don't know if he's there right now but he does live there."

"Thank you!" cried Kelene.

Constance quickly silenced the girl. "No need to thank me. Now come on, it's a bit of a walk to get to the house." Constance extended her hand and said, "My name is Astrid. We have much to talk about."

January 8, 2001, The Old House, 3:30 PM

Cameron could hear music streaming up from the ground floor. He did not understand how anyone could sleep in such an environment. But as far as he knew, no one was home. Angelique had told him that she would be staying with her boyfriend and Barnabas...well, Barnabas was never home. He assumed that Astrid had returned.

Cameron rolled out of bed and strolled to the window. As he had expected, the man was staring into his window. He had been there every morning since he had arrived. Cameron tried talking to the man but the man never responded. The man would look away and walk off. Usually Cameron would run down the stairs and begin to search the grounds, hoping to find the man. This day, he refused to look. Cameron threw on his last clean outfit and wandered downstairs to investigate the music.

The closer he came to the source, the clearer the music became, "White Album" era Beatles rolling through the mansion. Cameron could hear two distinct voices: one cool and sumptuous and the other soft and calm. Both voices were familiar although he could not pinpoint to whom they belonged. Once he made it to the ground floor he understood. He could clearly see Astrid sitting on the sofa, her smile smoothly spread across her face as she handed her guest a photograph. The woman's clear, tinkling confirmed her identity. "Keelie!"

Kelene turned to face him, her broad smile beckoning him to join her. "Come over here," she cooed. "It's been too long."

Cameron could not speak. He silently took a seat on the floor at Kelene's feet, leaning against her knees as she slipped her hands into his hair. "How did you find me here?"

"Well, you told me that you were coming to Collinsport. I asked around town about you and no none knew who you were. I would've left but someone mentioned the Collins Estate. I snuck onto the grounds and happened to run into Astrid. We came here hoping to find you. Since we didn't, we've been talking and listening to music. Where were you? I didn't here you come in."

"I was walking the grounds last night. I'm surprised you didn't see me." Cameron guided Kelene's hand to his shoulders, stroking her fingers intently before he realized that Astrid was staring at them. She did not seem to be doing this maliciously. She was only curious. Astrid quickly looked away and began rummaging through the small wooden box in her lap. She accepted the photograph back from Kelene and slipped it to the bottom of the box. Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron noticed a small metallic glint from the bottom of the box. "What's that?"

Astrid pilfered through the box and pulled out a silver chain with two silver bands attached. Her eyes glassed over as she crumpled the chain into her hand and pressed it to her heart. "I've not seen this in so long. God, where did this get to?"

"What is it?"

Astrid turned through the pictures until she found the correct one. She handed it to Cameron and turned away. Cameron took one look at it and realized the problem. "These belonged to your parents, didn't they?" Astrid nodded as she fumbled with the thicker silver band. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Astrid glanced at Kelene and began to put her things back into the box. "Listen, I'm going to leave you two alone. Use the CD player. Do whatever you like."

Cameron did not watch as Astrid leapt from the sofa and ran up the stairs. He felt Kelene shift, her knees brushing together as she reached for the CD case. She changed the disk and stood, her hand extended to Cameron. The bass slowly began to thud, the familiar beat of "Protection" bringing him to his feet. He wrapped her in his arms, loving the feel of her close to him once more. "Why did you find me?"

"I said I'd find you," murmured Kelene. Her face became solemn, her bottom lip trembling as she said, "I have something to tell you."

"What?" She did not answer. "Come on, Keelie! If it's important, I want to know about it."

"Oh, it's important." Kelene stood on her toes and whispered, "I'm pregnant and I know it's yours. I've been with no one else since I was with you in November."

Cameron did not know what to say. Thirty seconds before he had been a wayward man with no direction. Now he had more responsibility than he had ever expected to have. How could he care for a family if he could not find a job? How could he be an adequate father if he never had one? But Cameron cold tell none of this to Kelene. He had always hated to hurt her. It was harder now as she beamed. "Oh Keelie," he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek, "that's amazing. I don't know what to say."

"Don't leave me." Kelene buried her face into his body and wailed, "I couldn't take it if you leave me."

Cameron slipped his hand beneath her chin and shifted Kelene's gaze to his. She was crying, her light coffee skin blotched red. He looked away into the foyer. Astrid was staring at them. She knew; she had to. Her hands gripped the banister as she looked at them. She was not angry, only sympathetic. Cameron turned back to Kelene, whispering, "I can't leave you. I love you, Keelie. I don't want you to go through this on your own."

"Oh thank God. I was so afraid."

"There's no need for you to be afraid." Cameron kissed her and pressed her into his body. He had not lied to Kelene: he could not leave her now. Yet he did not know what he was going to do with her or how he would be able to care for her and their child. He looked back into the foyer to see Astrid sitting on the steps, her head pressing into the banister and her eyes shielded from view. He thought he could see her lips moving, but he decided that she was singing along with the song. He started to become worried when what had to be wind slipped through her hair and she leaned into an imaginary buffer. Cameron turned away and stared ahead, slightly afraid to look down on Kelene. As they turned near the metal door, Cameron saw Astrid's silver chain catch the light. "What the...? I though she took her chain with her."

"She did," murmured Kelene.

"Then what is it doing by the door?"

Astrid ran into the room, swiping up the chain and pressing it to her chest. She looked from the door to Cameron--more specifically, behind him. "How did this happen? What does it mean?" she whispered.

"Should it mean anything?" asked Kelene.

"No," murmured Astrid, shoving the silver chain into the pocket of her slim black coat. "It shouldn't mean anything."

Cameron wandered toward the metal door, lacing his hands through the bars as he peaked inside. He could see nothing through the darkness. "Do you know what's down there?"

Astrid pulled him away gently and stood in front of the door. Her eyes met Cameron's with instant intensity. "It's a basement. God only knows what Barnabas keeps down there. It's best we didn't investigate, okay?"

Cameron nodded in complacent agreement. The contents of a basement did not seem important enough to argue about. He blinked twice and glanced back to Kelene. She looked confused as she cautiously approached the door. When Kelene touched it, Astrid did not stop her, her eyes focused on some unseen object. "What is it?" asked Cameron.

"It's nothing," whispered Kelene. "This door just doesn't seem to go with the house. It belongs in a prison, possibly even a crypt."

"Yes," agreed Astrid, "it should be guarding...a...mausoleum. Oh God! That's it."

"What's it?" asked Cameron.

"Not now!" Astrid ran to the loveseat and began fumbling through the bag next to the CD player. She retrieved a small phone and ran to the window, her eyes focused on the sky. "Angelique? Good! Listen: I think I know where he is. Eagle Hill Cemetery. Yeah! We'll search tonight."

"Find him?" Cameron grabbed Astrid's arm, forcing her to look up at him. "I've seen a man outside my window. He doesn't listen to me."

Astrid's face instantly lit up. "You've seen the man?" Cameron nodded. "Is he tall with dark hair?" He nodded. "Have you seen his eyes?" He shook his head. "No matter. That's good enough." Astrid gave a few brief directions to Angelique and rang off the phone. "You're going to help me," she said solemnly.

"With what?" Astrid acted as if she would answer, but her attention soon turned to the man who had burst through the door. Cameron could not believe his eyes. It was the other man from his dream, the man who had looked so much like him. They stared at one another until Astrid grabbed the man's arm and pulled him into the drawing room. "Who is this?" asked Cameron.

"Not now!" snapped Astrid. She turned to the man and said, "You won't believe with I've discovered!"

"I think I can top it no matter what it is," purred the man. "Guess who I saw driving out of Eagle Hill Cemetery?"

Astrid thought only a moment before she snarled, "Josef!" The man smiled. "Jeez. You were right."

"I won't gloat."

"Then don't start," laughed Astrid. She hugged the man tightly and he seemed to enjoy it too much. "You're coming with us, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world." The man glanced at the new faces and mumbled, "I don't think we've been properly introduced."

Astrid nodded and said, "This is Cameron Stuart and that is Kelene Sheridan." She looked solemnly at Cameron and said, "This is Chris Jennings."

"Am I missing something?" asked Cameron.

Astrid looked from Chris, who shook his head and looked away. "Not yet, but trust me," she said softly, "this will all make since in a little while."

Eagle Hill Cemetery, 6:00 PM

"This is ridiculous," sighed Barnabas. He did not bother speaking up. He lagged behind the group so much that they were out of earshot. The moment he had risen, Constance stopped him from going into the drawing room. She had explained to him that Cameron and his lover were waiting above with Angelique and Chris, saying that he might want to enter the main house a different way so that they would not suspect that anything was wrong with him. Barnabas thanked her for the information, glad to see her thinking rationally for the first time in days. But then Constance began ranting about going to Eagle Hill Cemetery and searching for Quentin's body. Barnabas thought this plan ludicrous. He could easily admit that he missed Quentin but he would not search for a dead man. Then again, he had not slept with him. He did not understand her point of view. He almost felt horrible for questioning her, but she had interrupted his breakfast and would not excuse her for it.

Barnabas was surprised to see Constance walk towards him, her boots crunching through the snow and flashlight raised as if she might hit him with it. She did not bother playing the eye trick with him, knowing well that once cannot bewitch a vampire. "Can you tell me what your problem is?"

"This is stupid, Constance. This exercise will only lead to humiliation and disappointment for you," explained Barnabas. "You don't need this."

"You don't understand!" insisted Constance. "I feel him around me so often. It's so real! Besides, Cameron has seen Quentin and Chris saw Josef in this cemetery earlier today. What reason was here if not to hide a body? I'm going to find Quentin tonight."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Constance stiffened and pulled away. "If you don't believe, you can leave! No one held a stake to your heart and forced you to come with us."

Barnabas thought of going home. It was cold and he was hungry. But the possibility of the infallible Constance DuVane falling flat on her face seemed too scrumptious an opportunity to pass up. He caught up to the group quickly, falling in between Angelique and Chris. He leaned next to his former love and asked, "Why are you letting your friend do such a thing?"

Angelique turned to him and snapped, "She does as she pleases. And I think she might be right on this count. She would not drag us to this dreadful place to look at an empty crypt."

Barnabas sighed and turned to Chris. "Do you really want to find Quentin?"

"No but I'm really sick of getting furry every full moon," explained Chris. He turned to Barnabas and asked, "Weren't you married to Julia? Where is she? Did she leave you?"

Barnabas turned away from Chris without answering, moving next to Cameron, who kept an insane distance from his father. Barnabas could not believe that Constance had talked five people who ought to know better into following her to this place. Angelique and Chris seemed to put a moderate amount of faith in her. The only two people more oblivious than Barnabas was the confused young couple. He turned to Cameron and asked, "Do you know why you're here?"

"I don't know. I don't understand any of this, but Astrid said she would explain everything later." Cameron turned to Barnabas and whispered, "Who are we looking for?"

Before Barnabas could answer he looked ahead. Angelique, Chris, and Constance had stopped in the tracks, their angry eyes focused solely on Barnabas. He could take the hint. He turned back to Cameron and said, "I'm not quite sure. Only Astrid really knows." Only then did the irate trio begin to walk again.

Once they reached Eagle Hill Cemetery the group split up, some taking the task more seriously than others. Barnabas and Angelique found themselves glancing amongst the tombstones for familiar names, looking for the friends and enemies of long ago. Cameron and Kelene examined everything, breathing in their new surroundings with eager, child-like curiosity. Constance and Chris made a bee-line for the mausoleum. Both stood start still in front of it. Barnabas crept up behind her and said, "You don't have to do this."

"Yes I do," she whimpered.

Constance pulled away from the men and tentatively approached the iron gate. She unlocked it and stepped inside. After checking the initial interior, Constance went straight for the hidden chamber. Barnabas, like the others, looked away. He supposed his yearning to see Constance disgraced had not been as great as he had hoped. Only upon hearing her scream did he run for the room. He stopped in the doorway, bracing his hands on the sides so that the impacts of four people running at full speed did not send him flying into the room. "Oh God, it's true!"

Quentin sat in the far corner, his knees pulled to his chest. His hair brushed his shoulders and he looked as if he had not shaved in days. The dark blue overcoat was dirty but seemed in good condition, as did the blue slacks. The black turtleneck looked tattered and the heavy black boots appeared badly scuffed. Constance was the only one who dared to approach him. She touched his shoulder and he pulled away, looking up at her with empty eyes. "Quentin," she whispered. "Do you understand?"

"Quentin? It can't be?" whimpered Cameron. "What is she talking about?"

No one paid him any mind. Barnabas left his post, followed quickly by Angelique and Chris. They circled around Quentin, calling his name and barraging him with numerous questions. Quentin did not seem to understand. He shut his eyes tightly and covered his ears with this hands. Barnabas did not understand how they were going to get answers from a man who did not seem to recognize his own name. He turned to Constance and asked, "What's going on?"

Constance sat against the wall, her eyes hidden by the shadows. "You're freaking him out."

"And I suppose you understand the situation?"

"Damn straight I do." Constance moved her hand in front of Quentin's face and snapped. She succeeded in gaining his attention, his eyes following her fingers to her face. She moved her fingers to her eyes and he foolishly looked into them, leaving him bewitched. "You will follow me. Nod if you understand." Quentin nodded. "That's good, darling. Now, rise to your feet." Quentin complied, standing when Constance stood. She calmly looked him over and asked, "Will you take my hand?" Cautiously, Quentin gave her his hand and Constance accepted it, bringing it to her lips for a chaste kiss. Quentin responded by closing his eyes and sighing. "I understand. Don't fell guilty because you don't."

"Why doesn't he understand?" asked Barnabas.

"The astral body has separated from the physical body. He's without a spirit, without a voice. I have to reunite body and spirit."

Cameron stepped forward at this point,, Kelene following close behind. He looked Quentin over, his eyes widening as he examined him. "It's the man outside my window," murmured Cameron. "It's the man from my dream." He turned to Constance and asked, "Why did you call him Quentin?"

"Because that's his name. This is Quentin Collins."

"The man from the portrait?" Constance looked away. "It can't be! He can't be alive and still look the same."

Constance forced Cameron to look into his eyes. "I'll explain at the Old House, okay?" He nodded. "Good." She squeezed Quentin's hand and said, "Let's walk."

Quentin seemed to think about the command but he walked with Constance. Cameron and Kelene followed behind, both moving in a grander daze than Quentin. They were followed by Angelique and Chris, both unreadable as they left the mausoleum. Barnabas left last, taking it upon himself to lock up. He could not believe that Constance had been right. If she succeeded in reuniting Quentin with his astral self and curing Jennings father and son, it would be an amazing coup. Barnabas only regretted that his affliction would force him to miss the action.

January 9, 2001, The Old House, 5:30 PM

Cameron awoke in his room, groggy and dazed as he lazily shifted his position in bed. Kelene lay asleep at his side. He kissed her forehead and lay back in bed. He was in no hurry to leave. He normally felt this way on the morning before a blackout. Besides, getting out of bed would lead to confirmation that the last night had happened, that they had found a man who should be dead but was not, a man who appeared young and in good physical condition although his mind had deteriorated. But Astrid seemed to know him and took his care into her own hands. She made sure that he was cleaned,
polished, and sent to bed safely. Once that was settled, she had suggested that Cameron and Kelene sleep. Cameron could not understand why they had followed her command without question but they did. It had been a relief to get some rest although he was in no way rejuvenated.

After feigning sleep for another hour, Cameron decided that it was time to face reality. He did not want to leave without Kelene, afraid that she would jump to the wrong conclusion if she awoke to find him gone, so he woke her. After she became oriented, Cameron gave her the pentagram. "Isn't this evil," she asked quietly.

"No, that's just what silly people say. This is a good luck charm," explained Cameron. "We need luck now and I want you to have it."

Kelene smiled and slipped the chain around her neck. After cleaning up a bit, they went downstairs. Angelique and Chris sat on the loveseat talking quietly, only stopping when Cameron and Kelene entered the room. Astrid leaned on the pillar, her eyes focused on the center of the room. In the center sat the man in question. Cameron thought they had cleaned him up pretty well. He looked like anyone else as he slept in the chair. When Cameron walked past him, Quentin's eyes opened and began to suspiciously follow him. Cameron could understand why Astrid had asked about his eyes, large blue orbs that would have been beautiful had anything been behind them. In their current state, they unnerved Cameron. He turned to Astrid and said, "You promised me answers. I want to know what's going on!"

Astrid did not answer. She walked over to Quentin and manually shut his eyes. He opened them instantly. She tried three more times to close his eyes before giving up. "Please close your eyes." Quentin shook his head. "Even without your spirit, you remain insolent," she joked. Quentin smiled warmly on her, forcing Astrid to go lank. "Do you remember me?" He nodded. "Do you remember my name?" He nodded. "Can you speak it?" Quentin shook his head. Astrid nodded, resting her hands on his thighs as she continued to make eye contact. "Do you remember other things?" Quentin nodded but then shook his head, continuing with this pattern until Astrid touched his forehead. "Stop!" she said. He stopped. Astrid's face softened as she ran her hand down his face to his chin, cupping it in her fingers as she said, "I wish you could understand." She let go his chin and sat in front of him, cupping the hand he placed on her shoulder in hers and bringing it to her lips. "What do you want to know?" she asked Cameron.

"You said that this man is Quentin Collins, but he can't be. The man in the portrait was in his late twenties. He'd be over 130 by now."

"Yeah, 131 this year, but go one," said Astrid.

"See, this man can't be who you claim he is!" insisted Cameron. "Did your father know about him?"

"There really was no Grant Douglas," explained Astrid. "Quentin Collins and Grant Douglas are one in the same."

"Is Quentin Collins your father? Is that why you're worried about him?"

Angelique and Chris began laughing, falling into one another before pulling away as if burned. Astrid stared at them wickedly while Quentin stared down on her, unabashed affection filling his eyes for a brief moment before disappearing. "Tell him the full truth, Constance," urged Angelique.

"He'll have to know by the end of the night anyway," added Chris.

"What are they talking about?" asked Cameron. "Why did she call you Constance?"

"Because that's my name." She fell into Quentin's legs, moaning lightly when he ran a hand through her hair and replaced it on her shoulder. "'Astrid Douglas' is a pseudonym. I've gone through many names through the years but you'd know me best as Constance DuVane."

Cameron could not believe it. He had noticed her resemblance to his childhood idol the moment he first saw her. He had not expected her to be the same woman! How could she and Quentin remain alive? Why did they not age? What did it mean to him? "Chris said I'd have to know everything by the end of the night. What does any of this mean to me?"

"You're connected," answered Constance in monotone. "You are the great-great grandson of Quentin Collins. The affliction you and Chris suffer from is all connected with Quentin."

"How do you know about my problem? What does Chris have to do with this? Are we related?" asked Cameron.

Constance glanced to Chris and he nodded. "I'm your father."

Cameron sank to his knees, his eyes attempting to focus on Chris. What kind of family did he originate from? Did no one have a normal life? But that did not matter now. Cameron was staring at his father, the man who had created him but left before the final product was unveiled. This was the man who had betrayed his mother and had left Cameron inadequate for so many years. "Why did you treat us so?" demanded Cameron.

"I know that this won't make you feel better, but I only recently learned of your existence," explained Chris.

"You had sex with her! How could you not remember that?"

Angelique, Chris, and Constance glanced anxiously between one another, seeming to silently ask if they should tell the boy more. Cameron did not understand the women's tension. What did they know? "Actually," said Constance, "Chris didn't."

"That's bullshit!" screamed Cameron. "I'm obviously not the new virgin birth. Explain to me how such a thing can happen, that he can be my father without ever having sex with my mother."

"Incubus intervention," answered Angelique.

Cameron could not help but laugh. Incubus intervention? He could not believe that these people were blaming his conception on a product of Medieval demonology. "All right," he finally giggled. "Let's say that I am a product of 'incubus intervention.' Is that my problem?"

"No," murmured Constance.

"That doesn't help me! Can someone please tell me how Chris messed me up?"

"It's not my fault!" insisted Chris.

"No, your affliction is not his fault," concurred Angelique.

Cameron tried not to scream. This cat and mouse game was becoming unbearable. "If it's not my father's fault and it's not the incubus' fault, who's fault is it? I'm owed that much."

"It's all my fault," murmured Quentin. A universal gasp spread throughout the room as they turned to gawk at Quentin. He seemed oblivious to them all as he stared down at Constance. "It's all my fault. I killed her to protect Beth but I wasn't thinking. Magda didn't know about our children and neither did I. That's why she chose the curse she used. She believed that she would only hurt me but she hurt the children much more. But it's not Madga's fault. It's all my doing and I am so sorry!"

Cameron watched as Quentin broke down. Constance leapt to her feet and held him as he wept. "Does that answer your question?" she asked, her face buried in his hair.

"What is the curse?" Cameron walked closer to as he asked, "What am I saddled with?"

Quentin attempted to speak but could no. He shivered and laid his head on Constance's shoulder. She turned to Cameron, her arms still wrapped around Quentin, and asked, "Do you know what a lycanthrope is?"

"I'm a werewolf!" Cameron charged on Quentin only to have Constance stand in the way. "How can you stop me? I know you love him but he ruined my life. I don't give a damn if he's sorry! I am this horrible creature and I am passing this affliction on to my unborn child. How can you stop me and know the truth?"

"First things first, you touch him and you'll regret it," warned Constance. "Second, you think you know everything but you don't. You're here because I will cure you, Chris, and the baby. I cured Quentin but something went wrong. For some reason, there was a spontaneous astral projection and what binds the double to the body was broken. Luckily, the portrait preserved the body."

"Are you talking about the portrait you sent to Collinwood?" asked Cameron.

Constance shook her head. She snuck down into he basement and returned with a frame. She set it up on another chair and removed the cover. Kelene screamed and turned toward Cameron, whimpering and clutching his shirt. Cameron held her and looked down at the top of her head, attempting to wipe the image of the decrepit old man from his mind. Constance turned the portrait around, saying, "I had a similar reaction the first time I saw it. It is much worse than it used to be. I suppose I've grown too accustomed to it to be disgusted."

"Okay, so Quentin has a Dorian Gray portrait. Why does such a thing exist?"

Constance sighed and resumed her position beside Quentin. "It's a long story that will have to wait for some other time." She turned to Cameron and asked, "Do you know what tonight is?"

Cameron thought about it a moment and yelped upon realization. "There's a full moon tonight!"

Kelene wrapped her arms around Cameron's shoulders and kissed his cheek. "It'll be all right. Nothing will happen."

"But what if something does?"

"I have this," she said as she flashed Cameron the pentagram. "You won't hurt me."

"How can you be so calm about this?" begged Cameron. "I've dragged you into something horrible."

"I came to you of my own free will. I'm not an innocent. I'm not leaving without you, Cameron. You have to accept that."

Cameron had no retort. He kissed Kelene and turned to Constance. "What do you need?"

"I need Quentin's astral body and Count Petofi's ring."

"Huh?"

"I need the ring's magic to heal Quentin," explained Constance. "If it works, I'll cure you and Chris as quickly as possible."

"Do you know where the ring is?" asked Kelene.

"No," she moaned. "I searched Quentin for the ring last night and I didn't find it. I think the astral body has it."

"And where is the astral body?" asked Cameron.

"I'm not sure. I saw it yesterday but I've not felt it today."

"He needs to show up!" snarled Chris. "This wait is unbearable."

"How long have you really been waiting?" asked Angelique slyly.

"I've been the wolf for close to forty years and I spent the last ten of those in Windcliffe. Windcliffe, hon! It's not to happiest place on earth," explained Chris. "I've been waiting too long for this. Being the oldest sucks."

Constance nodded. She kissed Quentin's forehead and left the drawing room. She walked outside but soon came back inside. She leaned on the pillar, looking sadly around the room as she slid to the floor. She looked as if she would cry when the front doors blew open without warning. Quentin looked slightly anxious, as if he would run from the room at any moment. Constance started to approach him but stopped. She returned to the foyer. "You've cut it close," she laughed.

Cameron watched as Constance walked back into the drawing room. Behind her stood the glass-like outline of Quentin Collins. This Quentin smiled, his face bright from some inner light. He hung close to Constance. The body stared at its double, seemingly suspicious of its other half. "What are you waiting for?" asked astral Quentin.

"I need the ring."

Astral Quentin manually spun Constance around to face him. He dug inside his coat pocket and pulled out a gold ring. He placed it in her hand and said, "You can't believe how long it took me to find this. Do you know what went wrong?"

"Yes."

"Then we should begin."

Constance smiled as she placed the ring on. She guided astral Quentin to his body. He stood behind the body, placing his hands on his own shoulder as he stared at Constance. Constance knelt in front of the body and placed the ringed hand on his heart. While looking into his eyes, she said, "Forgive me, love, but I must do this." Constance closed her eyes and said, "I realize the error in my original command. It was wrong of me to ask for the curse of the werewolf to be lifted from the heart of Quentin Collins. When on errs, one should pay the consequences. Quentin's punishment was the curse. I realize that he must live with the curse--be it directly or indirectly--or not live at all. So I ask you to replace the curse of the werewolf on the heart of Quentin Collins."

To Cameron, nothing seemed to happen. He and Kelene looked away, sad to see Constance's pain lain bare. When he turned back, Cameron noticed that astral Quentin had disappeared. Constance removed her hand from his chest, covering her eyes with it as she wept. Cameron returned his interest to Quentin. Quentin remained still at first, but he soon closed his eyes and shuddered. When he opened them again, Cameron noticed a distinct difference. Quentin looked around the room, his brows furrowing as he looked over the gawking crowd. He looked down at Constance and smiled. He laced his hands through her hair and giggled. Constance looked up, her face completely blank as she whispered, "Quentin?"

"Constance! Long time, no see, huh?" he asked, the smile still plastered across his lips.

Constance smiled and leapt into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing kisses over his face. Quentin began to reciprocate and they kissed intently for a full minute. She pulled away quickly and cried, "Your portrait!" Quentin nodded. Constance tumbled from his lap and ran to the portrait. She turned it around and touched it with the ringed hand. "You were created to take on the curse of Quentin Collins. You WILL do this once again!" A small spark streamed from her finger and touched the portrait. She turned to Quentin and said, "It worked. I can feel it."

"Thank God!" Quentin leaned back into the chair and crossed his legs. "Who's next?"

All eyes landed on Chris. He rose from his seat and cautiously approached Constance, his eyes shifting from her to Quentin. Constance hesitated but put her hand over his heart. "I insist you removed the curse of the werewolf from the heart of Christopher Jennings. This atrocity is not his cross to bare and I demand that it leave his body!" Chris moaned a few times but soon became silent. He backed away and stared at Constance's hand. Her hand was full of a fine gray powder. She blew it to the ground and brushed her hands off on her pants. "It's gone, Chris. You're free."

Chris ran back to Constance and wrapped her in his arms. This all seemed perfectly innocent until he kissed her on the mouth. All jaws dropped as he kissed her, oblivious to her angry lover only feet away. Quentin jumped to his feet and stormed to the duo. Chris immediately released the embrace and backed away. "It was only a spontaneous reaction," said Chris. "I didn't mean any harm."

Quentin looked back to Constance, who blushed and smiled sheepishly. "It's nothing, really. I only have eyes for you." Quentin smiled and took Constance into his arms. Cameron noticed that Chris sulked back t his seat, letting Angelique silently console him. Constance turned to Cameron and asked, "Are you ready?"

"For what?"

"For a new life?"

Cameron could only smile. "What do I need to do?"

"Lie down on the floor," said Quentin.

"Why?"

"Because the moon will pull you there in a moment."

Cameron did not understand. He sent Kelene away, watching her run to sit with Angelique and Chris. Cameron sensed no problems until he felt the pain serge throughout his body. He barely felt it when his body slammed into the floor. His teeth burrowed into his bottom lip and his mouth began to fill with blood. He could feel the heat mixing with the pain, sending sweat pouring down his face. He only opened his eyes when he felt three sets of hands fall upon him. Quentin held his arms, Chris held his feet, and Constance straddled his torso, the hand over his heart. "I command you rip the curse of the werewolf from the heart of Cameron Stuart. No man should be punished for the sins of the father. I demand this injustice be rectified!"

The pain soon began to ease. Cameron felt the heat cooling against his skin and soon he felt nothing. He licked his lip to find that the wound had healed. He looked at Constance to see that she held the gray dust 9n her hand. She smiled as she blew it into oblivion. "Is it over?" he asked. Quentin rose and walked to the window. "Cameron, when was the last time you saw a full moon?"

Constance rolled off his body and Cameron leapt to his feet, joining Quentin at the window. He laughed as he stared into the sky. The full moon shone down on the freshly fallen snow. "It's been close to seven years."

"I don't know what to tell you," murmured Quentin.

"There's nothing left to say," said Cameron. "What's done is done. This is a new night and we all have a chance to begin again."

Quentin smiled, his smile broadening when Constance wrapped him in her arms and kissed him. Cameron turned away to see Chris staring at them. Cameron felt sorry for him. He could tell that this man was lonely and had been for a long time. "Chris," he whispered, "I'm sorry that I said the things I said."

"It's fine. I can see your point of view," murmured Chris. You were hit with more tonight than you had probably ever been forced to deal with before."

"Yeah. I want to get to know you."

"Really?"

"Yeah," said Cameron jubilantly. "A few days ago I had no family at all and now I am part of an extremely dysfunctional family. I'd like my branch of it to work."

Chris smiled and shook his head. "That would be nice. But remember, you have to get Constance to cure the baby. You don't need to go through this again."

"Not now," moaned Constance. "I need a rest."

"Rest or get laid?" asked Angelique.

Constance stuck her tongue out at Angelique as she walked to the metal door, standing beside it as it squealed open. "You've missed much, Barnabas."

Barnabas was not listening to her. He was staring at Quentin. "I don't believe it. You're..."

"Back from the dead?" sighed Quentin.

Cameron watched as Barnabas left the basement and walked to the window. More than ever, Cameron wanted to know what was hiding in the basement. His attention soon diverted to the frail gray wolf in the portrait. He wondered what he had looked like as the wolf. This idea left his mind the moment Kelene touched him. Cameron wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, glad to have her close to him without fearing for her life. Constance would cure their child and they could begin life anew. Constance learned on the opposite wall, staring into the crowd gathered around her lover. Quentin looked over to her and smiled. Cameron could understand why she hung back. She could let them have him now because she would have him for more than one lifetime. Everyone could begin life again. Their palpable joy could be felt in the air. It was so powerful that Cameron would not have noticed the breaking glass had he not heard the whir fly past his ear.

The Old House, 6:30 PM

Constance did not know what had hit her. She had heard the glass shatter and quickly felt pressure slam her into the wall. As she slid to the floor, she saw their horrified eyes plastered on her. Did they know what had happened? Apparently so. Kelene fled the room, followed shortly by Cameron and Chris. Both Barnabas and Angelique examined the window, accessing the damage and looking for the cause. Quentin ran to her side, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her temples. "What happened?" mumbled Constance.

"You've been shot."

Constance could believe it. The pain began to spread throughout her chest and funneled into each quadrant of her body. It was unbearable. She clung tighter to Quentin, hoping the pressure of his body against her would quell the pain. It did not. "I'll be fine," she said calmly. "It'll heal in a few minutes."

"I know," whispered Quentin, "but I won't leave you. I want to make sure that you're well."

In spite of the pain, Constance smiled. This was all the confirmation that the wait had been worth it. She kissed him, only allowing herself a small taste before the pain hit her again. Why wasn't the wound healing? "Please help me up?"

"Of course." Quentin took Constance's arm and began to lift her when two more shots fired out, followed by a scream. Both of them sank quickly to the floor. "Who was that?"

"It was probably Kelene. Check on her!"

"I won't leave you!" insisted Quentin.

"I'll be fine. Make sure she is too." Constance kissed Quentin once more before he ran into the other room. She tried to lift herself but could not. She turned to her right to see Barnabas kneeling before her. "What's going on?"

"It's Josef," he explained quietly. "He has a gun. He's shot Cameron and Kelene."

"Of course." Constance glanced around the room as her vision began to blur. She could still see that Quentin's portrait was in clear view. "Hide it!" she insisted. "Hide the portrait and hide yourself."

"Yes." Barnabas leaned in and touched the wound, sending an acute spasm of pain through her chest. He cringed and pulled away. "That's heinous, Constance. How bad is that pain?"

"Horrible, but...," murmured Constance, her hand wandering toward her back. She could feel an extra wound. It was wet and far from healing. "The bullet went through!"

"Do you need any help?"

"No! Hide the portrait."

Barnabas nodded and soon disappeared into the basement with Quentin's portrait. Constance pressed her back into the wall, and, while working against the pain, pushed herself up. She glanced to the side and saw the bullet in the wall. Carefully, she pulled the bullet out and examined it. It was silver. Constance had been shot more times than she could remember. Sometimes the bullets passed through her body but the wounds still healed. "Oh God, it can't be true!" she cried quietly. "The silver changes everything. I'm not going to heal. I've just found Quentin and I'm going to die!"

Constance wanted to wallow in her agony. Only a glance into the foyer at Kelene's slim foot made her think otherwise. She swallowed her growing pain and walked into the foyer. Angelique, Josef, and Quentin were no where to be seen. Cameron and Kelene lay along the floor, their blood pooling in a bright red puddle between them. Chris knelt beside them, frustration ripped through his features. When he saw Constance, he gasped. Constance calmed him and knelt beside the victims. Chris swallowed hard and said, "They're still alive."

"I know. They're not going to die." Constance bit one of her wrists and rammed it into Cameron's mouth. She knew the blood would heal him as it should have healed her. At first nothing happened, but he soon began to drink the clear viscous fluid. He began to sit up, and, upon noticing that he was suckling Constance's wrist, released her. Constance reopened the healing wound and gave it to Kelene, who followed Cameron's pattern. Constance turned to Chris and said, "Hide them upstairs."

"Not yet!" wailed Kelene. She grabbed Constance's hand and placed it on her belly. "Is it still alive."

Constance pressed her hand into Kelene's belly and she was able to feel the vibes of the werewolf child. "It's alive."

"Can you cure it?" asked Cameron.

Constance could not look at him. She could not tell him that she would not live out the night. "Yes," she whispered, "but go with Chris now!"

Cameron and Kelene hugged her and ran upstairs. Chris was hesitant to leave but Constance sent him upstairs. Constance started to followed them but Angelique pulled her into the drawing room. "How do I hurt Josef? I know you feel species loyalty but he is out of control!"

"Silver bullet," said Constance bluntly. "Just shoot him with it until he stops moving."

"Are you sure?" Angelique noticed the wound and screamed. She pulled Constance into the basement, both of the standing on the stairs so that Constance could brace her back against the wall. "What's happened to you?"

"Josef shot me with silver bullet and I'm going to die."

"You're being irrational."

"I'm too serious about this!"

"But this can't be happening."

Constance did not respond. The blood was pushing its way up her throat, attempting to flee through her mouth since it could not find the wound. She wanted to fall to the floor and let the blood seep out, let it wash her suffering away. But she soon heard commotion stream into the drawing room, accented by the scream, "You think you're a big man now, don't you?" It was Josef. Constance pulled away from Angelique and slipped into the drawing room. She was surprised to see Quentin and Josef, both of them tattered and covered in quickly healing wounds. Quentin had the gun, pointing it at Josef's head. Josef remained perfectly insolent until she saw Constance, at which point his eyes grew horribly large. "What happened to you?"

Constance was not looking at Josef. Her eyes focused solely on Quentin. He looked so frightened. He knew that the wound should have healed by now. Constance did not know how to tell him that he would not. She jerked her gaze to Josef and snarled, "You shot me! You shot a preternatural being with silver bullet. What do you think is wrong with me?"

"Silver bullet can't hurt you!" insisted Josef.

"Well, I didn't drill this hole in my chest for my health!" Constance repressed her laughter as she staggered towards Quentin, eventually collapsing in his arms. Josef dared not to move. "I'm going to die," she whispered into Quentin's shoulder. "I don't want to die but it's out of my control."

"You can't die!" cried Quentin as he pulled Constance into him, kissing her forehead and covering the blowout on her back with his hand. "This can't happen."

"Of course she can't die!" wailed Josef. He moved closer to Constance but stopped once his forehead met the gun. "Quentin, you know as well as I that an incubus/succubus can't die."

"What if I tested that theory?" asked Quentin, his finger grazing the trigger. Josef stepped out of the way. "What's wrong, Josef? Afraid something will go wrong?"

"Of course not," snapped Josef, backing away until he stepped into broken glass. "I don't like pain, that's all."

"You know nothing of pain," snarled Quentin.

"How dare you?" screamed Josef. "I've lived longer than you. I've known agony you can't imagine."

"Excuse me guys, but I'm topping you both on the pain scale right now!" Constance turned to Josef and snarled, "You only bring pain, not feel it."

"You have no clue. I've been so alone, so miserable."

"Because you push people away and manipulate them. You torture and abuse."

"Not compared to what Avery did to you?"

Constance attempted to attack Josef but Quentin held her firmly in place. "You knew that he would do that! You knew, you could see it in me. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't really care," sighed Josef. "It was yours, not mine."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Quentin.

Constance remembered that Quentin did not know about their child. She could not tell him now, not as Josef watched on in silence. "Oh, it doesn't matter what he's talking about. All that matters was that he knew there was a problem and he did nothing," she said. "That's Josef's way: he claims to love you but then he turns his back on you. Think of the way you treated Angelique. I can't imagine why you wanted her dead!"

"It's like I explained to Quentin: I figured that she would kill him," explained Josef.

"That old excuse." All turned to see Angelique standing by the door, a clay doll in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. "I found this amongst my things," she said innocently. "I considered sending it back to you, but I decided to save it for a rainy day...or a moonlit night."

"You can't kill me with image magick," warned Josef.

"I know," she moaned as she looped the handkerchief around the doll's neck, "but it does hurt, doesn't it?"

Angelique tightened the loop and Josef fell to his knees, his hands struggling against the invisible rope. Constance stared on in wonder, the pain ebbing as she mechanically ran her hands through Quentin's hair. At first she felt like laughing but that urge was soon replaced by the need to vomit. She pushed away from Quentin and her knees buckled. As she hit the floor, the warm sticky fluid steamed from her mouth. It tasted and smelled of burned sugar. She did not look up as commotion stormed behind her. Angelique pulled her to her knees and she saw Josef once again cowering on the floor with Quentin pointing the gun at his head. "Do you believe now?"

"It's true," wept Josef. "You're going to die."

Quentin shook his head and walked closer to Josef, placing the barrel of the gun at his temple. "Shut up, just shut up! This is your fault."

"I didn't mean...," stammered Josef.

"Who gives a damn what you meant!" screamed Quentin, his voice breaking mid-sentence. "It doesn't change the fact that you've done this. You're not sorry. You never are. You deserve death."

Josef attempted to run. Quentin did not attempt to stop him. Angelique had retrieved the dull and recommenced the strangulation. Quentin grabbed him by the collar and dragged Josef back into the drawing room. "You...you can't do this," stammered Josef. "Co...Co...Constance, have mercy! You know what I meant!"

Constance sat on her knees, steady for a moment but quickly forced to brace herself on trembling fingertips. Quentin ran to her side as Angelique kept Josef busy, folding her to his chest and covering the back wound with his hand. "Josef didn't mean to kill me," she whispered hoarsely, "but he meant to take life. Let him wither. I want him to die."

Quentin nodded. "What do you want for yourself?"

"Lay me down," she cried. "I can't take this anymore! The pain is unbearable. I just want to die!"

Quentin held her closer. Constance could feel his tears dripping onto her. "I've just found you," he whispered. "I don't want to let you go."

"I don't want to go." She pulled back and wiped the tears from his cheek. "I suppose it's my turn to be the calm one, huh?"

He smiled weakly. "Constance, I love you. I don't want you to go thinking otherwise."

"I always knew that you did."

Quentin choked back a sob and kissed her. When they released, he carefully laid Constance down. She placed a hand under the wound as she watched him walk to Josef. The pain swelled while she witnessed Angelique ease her grip on the handkerchief. Almost instantly, Quentin fired a shot into Josef's head, followed soon after by the remaining bullets. She smiled and removed her hand. The pain eased as the fluid left her body, a pool spreading beneath her and filling her nose and eyes. Her vision went black. She felt nothing but orgasmic relief.

Constance could still hear voices although they were heavy and blurred. She ignored them, choosing to fall into oblivion. She was surprised to feel pressure bend into her legs and the bluntness of hands pressing into her back. She certainly did not expect a knife the penetrate her back. As she screamed, fluid filled her mouth and dulled the sound. Constance bit her lip weakly as the knife went deeper, turning in a circle before the intruder removed it. She felt hands plunge into the wound, fingers delving into her and puling out tissues. Once the hands left, however, she felt the tingle of regeneration. Bone, muscle, and flesh began stretching and expanding, healing. When the tingle ceased she felt hands roll her over. Her vision cleared and she saw her attacker. "Quentin! What's going on?"

"Shh," he whispered. "I cut out the dead tissue and you healed."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Quentin nodded curtly and unceremoniously plunged the knife an inch away from the hole. Constance had not realized the length of the blade and it frightened her. She bit the inside of her cheek as the knife circled the wound. Quentin removed the knife and deftly peeled away the dead skin, the glint of silver rimming the entry wound. The dead muscle and bone were soon removed and placed to the side with the rest. The wound began to mend instantly. Once the tingling ceased, Constance ran her finger over the wound. It was abnormally smooth and supple, sensitive. She grabbed Quentin's hand and pulled herself into sitting position. "How do you feel?"

"I'm a little woozy but I think I'll be okay." Constance wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She could feel the goo that stuck to his hands seeping into her sweater. "I can't believe you've done this!"

"I wasn't going to let you do," he whispered. He wiped the hair from her eyes but pulled back when he noticed the goo on his hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing." Constance pulled off the mutilated sweater and let Quentin wipe his hands on it. The cold air hit her immediately. She eased back in Quentin's arms, letting him pull her in and keep her warm. "God, when was the last time we sat like this?"

"It's been too long." Quentin kissed her again but pulled away quickly. "What's that?"

Constance sniffed the air, the odor of burned sugar filling her lungs. She looked over to see Josef's quickly decaying corpse. "That could have been me."

"But it's not." Quentin kissed her forehead and looked her over, his eyes landing on the former sight of the wound. He ran his finger across the new skin, eliciting a guttural moan from Constance. He considered touching it again but placed his hands on her shoulders. "That spot looks so strange. It's pale...paler than you."

"It's just new skin. It will probably blend in a few weeks." She sighed and fell forward, her forehead braced against his chest. "You saved my life. I'll never be able to repay you."

"I was returning a favor. I have my reward."

Constance smiled and kissed his cheek. She would have gone further had she not remembered Kelene. "Can I wear your coat?"

"Sure." Quentin handed her the coat, helping her into it before she rose to take tentative steps toward the foyer. "Why?"

"I'm not going to flash Kelene when I work with her."

"Oh...who's Kelene?" asked Quentin.

"Cameron's girlfriend. You know, the pretty dark haired girl. She's pregnant with Cameron's child and I must cure it."

Quentin stared at her, an exasperated "ugh" escaping his lips before he began to laugh. "I don't believe it. It's hard to think of him as anything but a child."

"Well, he's an adult and you're going to get to add another great to your grandfather status." Constance, surer on her feet than before, returned to Quentin and helped him to his feet. "Cameron is 28. He's four years...oh, never mind."

"What?" Quentin grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. "What were you going to say?"

Constance had let half of it slip. It would be best to tell him to rest. "Cameron is four years older than the age our child would have been."

"Our child?" asked Quentin softly. "Why didn't you tell me before! Where is it? What's happened to it?"

"It's dead, Quentin. Avery gave me an injection against my will and I miscarried," she sobbed. "But don't worry: Avery's being tortured large strong men with hot pokers as we speak. He's being tortured. I've seen to it."

Quentin slipped back to the floor. Constance knew that the information could have affected him negatively but she knew that he had to know. "Did this happen before or after I projected?"

"After."

"Oh God, I can't believe you went through that on your own."

Constance sat beside him, wrapping him in her arms and letting him lay there a moment. "I'm fine. You're find. We're both going to be all right. I try not to think about it. Neither should you."

"Can you forget?" asked Quentin in monotone.

"No. I think about it at least once a day. I wonder what it would of looked like, what it would have acted like, or what it would be by now. What gets me," she whispered, "is that I don't know if we can do it again. Some say you can and others say that you can't. It's so strange."

Quentin pulled back and wiped the hair from her face. "Well, we have quite a long time to find out, don't we?"

"Yeah," sighed Constance. She fell back into Quentin and closed her eyes. "Now I have to go cure her child. I'm not sure if I'm ready."

"Do you want to wait awhile longer?" asked Quentin.

"No. It's not her fault." Constance leapt to her feet and helped Quentin to his. "I can do this and then I can rest. After a night like this, I think we could all sleep for days and not feel rested." Constance took Quentin's hand and together they walked to Cameron's room.

The Old House, 8:00 PM

Cameron had not expected Constance to come to his room. He had noticed the wound in her chest even if Kelene had not. He had seen the light shine through the hole and it frightened him. One look at Chris made Cameron realize that someone else had seen the wound. Cameron could see the man's anxiety, his fear that this woman might not live out the night. Chris broke down once Angelique ran weeping into the room. They had lain against one another and wept, mumbling words that were incomprehensible to him but perfectly coherent to one another. But Cameron could guess why they were upset: Constance was dead. He expected Quentin to walk through the door at any moment, his voice breaking as he confirmed that his lover had died.

Cameron was truly surprised to see Constance walk through the door with Quentin behind her. Neither seemed bothered by the stares that instantly met them. No one would be able to convince Cameron that nothing had happened to Constance. She wore Quentin's coat buttoned to her neck, the lapels flapping around her neck like mud flaps. Although she looked dreadfully pale, she looked better than she had before. She seemed both alert and distracted. Something else was obviously on her mind. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"If you're not well enough, we should wait," suggest Cameron.

"I'm well enough!" insisted Constance, her voice strained against her anger. She ran her hands through her hair and knelt in front of Cameron. "I know what I'm doing. We need to finish this so you can move on."

Cameron did not answer. On closer inspection, Cameron noticed the clear gunk on Constance's face. It did not cover her face but appeared as flakes next to her eyes, nose, and mouth. The affect reminded him of the residue glue leaves when it dries. Constance noticed that he was staring at her and bowed her head. He turned to Kelene and asked, "Are you ready?"

Kelene leaned forward. Constance flinched when Kelene flicked the gunk away from her nose. Underneath lay only flawless pale skin. "I understand," she murmured. She sat up and said, "I'm ready."

Constance smiled as she took a seat next to Kelene on the bed. Cameron immediately jumped off the bed and stood at the footboard. He stood only a foot away from Quentin, who had moved closer to the bed when Constance jumped on. As Constance recited the incantation to free his child, Cameron could not shake his glance from Quentin's hands. The grime that sat on Constance's face clung to Quentin's hands, embedding itself under his nails and in the hollows between his fingers. Quentin realized that Cameron was staring at his hands and rammed them in his pockets. Neither of them wanted him to see what had happened. It was probably best to let it go.

When Cameron looked back to the bed, Constance and Kelene smiled brightly, a small ball of gray dust resting in Constance's hand. She blew the soot to the floor. Kelene flung her arms around Constance, hugging her tightly as she kissed both cheeks. Constance returned the favor before carefully climbing off the bed. She stumbled lithely to be caught by both Cameron and Quentin. She mumbled a soft "thank you" and pulled away from Cameron, allowing Quentin to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her into his body. "Okay folks," she said, her voice slightly dry, "I must admit that, in all my years, this has been one of the weirdest early evenings of my entire life. We've all had a rough time of it and I believe that the worst is over. I'm going to sleep. I suggest you all do the same. Let's meet again at noon to talk some things over, okay?"

Constance did not wait for answers, letting Quentin quickly help her from the room. No one else bothered to move, only casting fretful glances between one another. "What happened to her? Didn't she have a hole in her chest?" asked Cameron.

"Josef shot her," said Angelique. "Apparently Quentin was able to save her."

"What happened to Josef?" asked Chris anxiously.

"Quentin shot him. Josef is dead."

Cameron watched as Chris sighed in relief and fell into his seat. He rose from his seat and walked to the bed. He hugged Kelene and Cameron, saying, "Thank God that's over. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, Chris left the room.

Cameron looked over to Angelique and asked, "What does any of that mean? Who was Josef?"

"Josef was the one who impregnated your mother. He was the incubus," explained Angelique. She looked over to them and said, "I'll leave you now. You've seen much tonight. Personally, I can't stay awake another moment."

Cameron bid her goodnight. He had thought that she had had one of the easier nights amongst the seven of them. Maybe he did not know what Angelique was thinking. Maybe it was best that way. He had much to think about himself. He landed on the bed with a thud, eliciting a small yelp from Kelene before she slipped down beside him. "This is so weird," he mumbled as he pulled her to him. "Did you ever think like would be like this?"

"No I never did," sighed Kelene, "but that doesn't mean that this is bad."

"It's not necessarily good."

"No, but it's better than my family. These guys are odd, but they could love you. Hell, I think they already do. If they didn't care about you, they would not have helped you." She kissed his forehead and lay her head on his chest. "Let's just go to bed. There will be more in the morning."

Cameron thought that he would have trouble falling asleep, but he dozed off with ease. His dreams were peaceful, the kind of mundane dreams that help to ease sleep along. He awoke around noon fully rested. Cameron could not remember the last time he had slept so well. This was the first day he had awaken untainted, free of his terrorizing curse for the rest of his life. He woke Kelene and they walked down to the drawing room, hoping that the others had had just as pleasant a night. From the looks on their faces, he could tell there was a problem. "What's gone wrong? Are we all right?"

"No, no," murmured Constance, her head resting against Quentin's shoulder. "You've all been cured--well, everyone but Quentin--and you will not relapse."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Constance and I may be in serious trouble," answered Chris. "It seems that some officials from Windcliffe found out that I was living on my own. From what they had read in my papers, they had expected Constance to put me in another facility. Tomorrow, he have to go before a board to decide if I should stay out or go back into their care."

"Why did you get out in the first place?" asked Kelene.

"I forged documents to have him released," moaned Constance.

"Do they know that?" asked Cameron.

"They have their suspicions."

"What will they do?" asked Cameron, finally finding the courage to step into the drawing room.

"She could very well to prison," said Quentin, running his fingers through Constance's hair as he spoke. "Chris might go back into Windcliffe and Constance might go to jail."

Cameron could not believe it. Why was this happening now? They had all been saved, but two of the main participants may have to suffer for much longer than the average lifetime because of this mistakes. "What can I do?" demanded Cameron.

Constance smiled and slipped further into Quentin. "Thank you but there's nothing you can do. Only one person can get us out of this and she's indisposed."

"What do you mean?"

"It's much too complicated," sighed Angelique. "It's best that you didn't know."

"But you two cannot be locked away!" cried Cameron.

Constance and Chris rose from their posts and walked over to Cameron. "We're going to be all right," said Chris.

"You have no need to worry about us," added Constance. "You need to worry about yourself."

"Huh?"

"You need to think about where you're going from here," said Constance.

"I don't know," murmured Cameron. This was the first time he had seriously thought about it. Where would they stay? How would they pay the bills that would soon begin to rise? "I can't think of anything."

"Well, I have an idea. I can put you up in my apartment because I'm moving away from it for the time being. I'll pay your hospital bills. I'll send both of you back to school, if you like. I'll do anything to help you get back on your feet," offered Constance.

"I can't take your money," said Constance.

"Yes you can."

"You need this more than anything right now," said Chris.

Cameron did not want to take her money. He did not want to owe Constance DuVane more than he already felt he owed her. "What if I can never pay you back?"

"I don't want you to pay me back. I don't need you to do so. I have enough money."

Cameron turned to Kelene, her face unreadable as she stared forward. "Do you want to do this?" he whispered.

"We have to," she answered softly. "We need this. It would only last until we could take care of ourselves."

"Then I guess we'll take it."

Constance rose and walked back to Quentin. She searched through the coat that lay next to him and pulled out a key chain. She removed three of the keys and handed them to Cameron. "The blue is to the apartment, the small one is the safe in the bedroom, and the black one is to the car."

"Why the car key?"

"Because you're leaving soon," said Constance.

"Are you guys trying to get rid of me," asked Cameron.

"We're trying to protect you," insisted Chris. "Whatever happens, it would be best if you were out of town. They've seen Kelene in town and someone sent her here. Various people have seen both of you with Constance and I on the estate. It's best that no one links you two to us."

"But how will I get in touch with you if something goes wrong?"

Constance pulled a pen from her pocket and scrawled a phone number on the back of Cameron's hand. "This is for my cell phone. Quentin will have it just in case I'm taken out of commission."

"And if they do jail Constance, you still won't have to worry about money," added Quentin. "I can't get access to Constance's funds but I still have my own accounts, which have been gathering major interest plus the occasional residual gained from the trash I wrote in the sixties. You will be well provided for."

It all seemed settled. Cameron turned his attention back to Chris and asked, "Are you sure that I can't help you?"

"You wouldn't be able to," insisted Chris. "And don't worry about me! I've lived through my fair share of bad times. We'll think of something and I'll visit you as soon as I can."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"You won't have to. I'll want to see you again."

Cameron nodded. Without thinking, he hugged Chris. Only days earlier he would have knocked his father to the floor had he met him. Now that he had met Chris, he realized that this man had experienced painful things that Cameron could not fathom. He was not the bastard he had expected him to be. He wanted to get to know him. Cameron only hoped that time would grant him that privilege.

It took very little time for Cameron and Kelene to ready themselves to leave. After embracing the four people in the drawing room, they retreated to their room to pack. One look at the few trinkets laying around the floor led Cameron to believe that there was nothing that he really wanted to take. "Let's just leave," he told Kelene. "We're starting over. We don't need any of this crap anymore."

Kelene glanced around the room with a critical eye, her lips broadening into a smile when she turned back to Cameron. "I think you're right," she purred. She took Cameron's hand and led him out of the room. "Come darling, we have to meet our future."

Cameron could not help but smile. He allowed Kelene to take him to the stairwell. He would not let her out of his sight again. For the first time, he believed that life was on a true upswing. He only hoped it would last.

January 11, 2001, The Old House, 6:55 PM

Barnabas was frantic. He had awaken to see that the chains had been removed from Julia's coffin. He checked the coffin to find her body gone. He saw no sign of a disturbance or struggle. Barnabas checked the lock and realized that it had not been damaged in any way. Someone had taken to time to carefully pick the lock and steal his wife. Barnabas rushed up into the drawing room. The only people there were Angelique and Quentin, both too engaged in their card game to care about him. "Have either of you seen Julia?"

"No," murmured Quentin, his eyes never wavering from his cards.

Barnabas thought otherwise. He noticed the way Quentin's collar seemed to cover too much of his neck. Barnabas ran towards Quentin and pulled back his collar. All that was revealed was unbroken skin. "Sorry to disappoint you," snapped Quentin.

Barnabas turned to Angelique and asked, "Have you seen her?"

"I've only been here ten minutes," answered Angelique. "I've not seen Julia since we've arrived here anyway."

Barnabas did not understand it. Neither Angelique nor Quentin had seen Julia. Cameron and Kelene had left. They had not even known that he had a wife. Josef was dead and unable to meddle. That left only two suspects. "Where are Chris and Constance?"

"They should be home momentarily," answered Quentin.

"They've been gone quite awhile," purred Angelique. "Do you really trust them alone in a car after what happened on the ninth?"

"That's so harsh, Angie." They turned to see Chris leaning on the pillar, looking surprisingly comfortable in his own skin and in the black suit. Barnabas thought it strange that he had worn a black suit to this hearing, but no one associated with the Collins family was known for normal behavior. Why not look like you are going to a funeral when you are fighting for your life? "I try not to make mistakes that will get me beaten more than once."

"How often do you succeed?" asked Angelique.

"That really doesn't matter," murmured Chris, "but nothing happened."

"Where is Constance?" asked Quentin.

"I'm here." Constance stood across from Chris. She was wearing a black pants suit. Barnabas thought that they looked like professional death. "It was easier than I thought it would be. We're in the free and clear."

"How?" asked Barnabas. "How could you prove that you were that those documents were legal when you forged them all?"

"We had a little help," said Chris.

"Who?"

A figure walked between Chris and Constance. The figure was clothed in a black cloak, its head covered by the hood. The figure removed the hood to reveal its identity. It was Julia. She looked striking, her bright crimson hair grazing her jaw and enhancing the angles of her face. She looked good in the black. Barnabas knew better than to approach her. The look on her face proved her anger. "How did you get her out?"

"Picked the lock," answered Constance. "We considered cutting the chains but it was easier to pick the lock. That is one cheap lock! It took about thirty seconds and it was open."

"Leave it to Barnabas to use the cheap lock," snapped Julia.

"I didn't expect anyone to try to remove you," countered Barnabas. "How did you survive in the sun?"

"I was never directly exposed to sunlight. I was covered heard to toe. The windows were tinted. I was never in any danger."

"Why would you risk it?"

"It was more important to save Constance and Chris from the new powers to be at Windcliffe. I leave them for a year and they fall apart Incompetence!" wailed Julia. "Someone had to show them who was the real authority. They knew who to trust. They believed every word I said."

Barnabas groaned and turned away. Julia had taken a chance best not taken. Did she do this to spite him? Did she have no care for her own life? "How long did it take?"

"A few hours," said Chris. "We were released around four."

"Then why did it take so long for you to return?" asked Quentin.

The three of them began to laugh softly, casting devious glances between each other before glaring back into the drawing room. "Don't be silly, Quentin! We were all well behaved. We had some things to look up," giggled Constance. "Chris and I thought that we would have to search out records, but Julia said that she could tell us the whole story." Their eyes shifted directly to Barnabas. "Were you ever going to tell Chris about his brother?"

"How do you fit that into a conversation? 'Oh, by the way, I've alternately staked your brother and exposed him to sunlight.' Do you want me to say I regret it because I don't? I did it to save others," said Barnabas.

"I can understand that," murmured Chris. He moved away from the pillar and walked into the drawing room, taking seat by the fire. "Anyway, we went to the House-by-the-Sea. I remembered reading about how vampires could turn into dust and go through keyholes. I suppose a part of me wanted Tom to be alive. We searched the house and found an empty coffin. So Tom is gone. I know why and I accept that."

"You're not angry?" asked Angelique.

"Oh, I'm mad as hell but there's nothing I can do about it. I could get angry at you and Barnabas but that doesn't bring my brother back. I can get mad at Quentin but that doesn't give me my life back. I have to be able to move on to the little bit of future I have left."

"What do you mean?" asked Constance.

"I'm going off the injections," said Chris. "Once the stuff filters through my system, I'll go back to my regular self. I'll feel and look the way I should."

"I don't think so." Constance moved into the drawing room. She took the letter opener from the desk and stalked towards Chris. She took his wrist and slashed it. Blood poured for a brief moment before the wound healed. "I don't think that's something that'll filter out of you any time soon," said Constance. "You've been injecting some ancient alchemy and it's with you to stay. Ask Barnabas: he'll be fine for a few years then--BOOM--he's a vamp again."

"Don't say that I'll revert to that!"

"I don't think you will," said Julia. "You were injecting blood that had been tweaked and added to that it's quite different from what flows in Barnabas and I. You are what you are and will remain so for the rest of your life--however long that may be."

Chris nodded and leaned back in his chair. Constance dropped the letter opener and sat next to Quentin. "Are we leaving tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

"I don't see why not," whispered Quentin. He looked over to Chris and asked, "Are you still coming with us?"

"Yeah," mumbled Chris. "It's time to leave." He looked over to Angelique and asked, "Are you coming with us?"

"No, I'm going on vacation with Andrew." Angelique glanced awkwardly to Constance and asked, "Are you all going to live together?"

"No!" insisted Constance wearily. "We're driving to the airport together. Two hours...in one car...with these two...joy."

"You'll live." Julia walked into the room and said, "Now, I'm going to have to kick the four of you out of the house for awhile. I need to talk to Barnabas alone."

No one argued with her. They funneled out of the drawing room and out of the building, leaving Barnabas alone with Julia. She took off her cloak and laid it across a table, revealing that she was wearing a flattering black dress. She looked wonderful but Barnabas dared not to say it. He did not know how she would react. "I'm not going back to that coffin until I have to and I won't be chained up again. Do you understand?" asked Julia.

"Yes," murmured Barnabas.

"Good. As for us, we should probably remain together...for appearances. We know the way thing stand but the others do not. No one should be let on that things have changed. Someone should be allowed to live with an illusion."

"Is this really necessary?" demanded Barnabas. "I know the way things stand."

"Do you?" Julia took the seat by the fire. Barnabas thought her smile devious. "I know you like me now," she cooed. "It's all too sad, really. I loved you so much. Did you notice? Not hardly. You hobbled after the pretty young things who ignored you. And now the tables have turned: you are crazy for me and I chase others...although I'm rarely denied. Just ask Hunter Haskell."

"You did not bite Carolyn's son!"

"He came to me and I did not bit him. Constance and Chris will confirm this for me." Julia leaned back in their chair, the smile still plastered across her lips. She was obviously enjoying this. "I'll see him tomorrow night. I'm sure Carolyn will not approve but there's no need for her to know. Besides, with all the weirdoes she dated, does she really have the right to judge!"

Barnabas could only groan. He no longer had a wife; he had a lustful daughter. He hated it that it made him want her all the more.

Two years later, Garden, 5:00 PM

The air had finally began to ease up. The humidity had been killer this day, leaving Constance and Quentin to remain inside most of the day, lying in bed and soaking up more air conditioning than they should. But by 4:00, the density began to break and the air finally became tolerable. Constance now sat up in the hammock, her legs crossed at the ankles. Quentin lay right behind her, his legs hanging off the hammock and his hands playing with the thin straps of her tank top. In her lap lay today's mail, mostly inquiries for her to play again. No one seemed to accept that she had retired to live a quiet life with her lover. The rest were letters from friends.

Angelique had married Andrew a year ago. Two months after the wedding she gave birth to a son, Griffin. Constance hated to admit it but she knew that the marriage would not last. As much as Angelique claimed that she wanted a "normal" man, she knew that she would not be able to handle one. Somehow, she has kept Andrew completely in the dark about her powers. Constance knew that Angelique was afraid that Griffin had inherited some of her powers. As it stood now, the boy seemed to be a normal child. For his sake, Constance hoped her would remain that way.

Cameron and Kelene continued to live in her apartment. She should just sign it over to them. Cameron had discovered Constance's camera equipment the moment he moved in. After much cajoling, she gave it to him for a belated Christmas gift. The moment he figured out how to work it all, he went on a photo spree, documenting everything from the mundane to the miraculous. The photographs documenting the development of Kelene and young Jason were truly extraordinary. Those pictures has recently been displayed in a gallery, all of them being scooped up at high prices. Cameron could not understand why anyone would want to buy pictures of another man's life. He did not understand his talent. Constance was convinced that the boy would never grow up. It was one of his more enduring traits.

Julia kept a busy love life. After a three month fling, she tossed Hunter to the side. The poor boy was in love with her but she only saw him as a plaything, a well built boy made solely for her pleasure. This was the only man Constance knew by name. Julia sent her numerous photographs of her many beaus, most of them rather handsome, and, from what Julia said about them, highly intellectual. She liked being able to talk out her theories with them and then get naughty for the rest of the night. She wondered how Barnabas dealt with all the men who traipsed in and out of what was technically his house. He probably stewed over every man but refused to say a word to Julia about them. What could he say? Julia was going to do as she pleased.

Constance rarely heard from Chris. He seemed well when they spoke but she could tell that he was lost. As Julia had said, the injections had not worn off. They probably never would. It seemed that Chris had yet to accept that his life might be indefinitely prolonged. He literally drifted from town to town, studying the nuisances of the local scenes and writing down his insights in the numerous notebooks that filled his trunk. Constance had flipped through some of the books and found his writing good. She hoped he would be trimming these stories, these ideas down into something more coherent. Constance believed that Chris had potential. He only needed to cultivate it. She understood that he was in limbo but she knew that he would not recover if he did not help himself. She wished Chris luck. It was all she could do for him.

Constance soon tossed the letters to the side and picked up her own notebook, staring down at the small jot list she had been working on for days. As for herself, Constance believed herself to be happy. She and Quentin had found a new house by the ocean, this one furtherer from the sea than the first, but it was larger and offered a better view of the uninhabited island next door. They had lived in this home for almost two years. She had announced her retirement abruptly, angering her management and disappointing fans. She released all live material to be pressed and paid off her associates. In her mind, no one had the right to complain. They had their lives and now it was time for her to work on hers.

"Quentin, tell me how this sounds: Rebecca Anne?"

"Too plain," yawned Quentin.

"You're right," concurred Constance. "How about Germainne Corinne?"

"It doesn't sound right."

"I know. This is harder than I thought it would be. Okay: Gwynneth Elise?"

Quentin was silent for a moment. "I really like that. It's the best so far. Do you have anything else?"

"Nope," sighed Constance. "You?"

"I like that best." Quentin carefully grabbed her shoulders and brought her down to him. "It's really nice. What's the other name?"

"Um...William Noel."

"I like it. All the bases are covered now."

Constance listened to go on. She could fall asleep again. She had been sleeping more but the doctor said that might happen. She only came back into this world when his hand grazed by her growing belly. She had been as surprised as him when she found out that they had conceived so quickly after rediscovery. It truly did not matter to her. They were both excited. Quentin had never had a chance to be with his first children. They both saw this as a kind of second chance. Constance had kept the ring so that the child could be cured once born. Then again, the doctor had warned her that there could be twins. Double trouble once again.

"Shh," she whispered. He looked at her sadly until she said, "I can't kiss you if you want shut up." He smiled and kissed her, careful in the way he handled her. Constance thought that he feared she would break now. "Are you okay now?"

"I'm fine. I was fine before." Quentin became silent once again, furrowing his brows as he stared at her. "Do you worry about what he told you?"

"Well, it can't see why it wouldn't be different. This is species mixing, darling. Something's going to be a little weird. As long as it's able to control itself, everyone will be fine."

"I don't so much worry about that as about someone like Avery taking on that whole world's savior bit," sighed Quentin.

Constance could understand. She had decided to go into seclusion until the child was born. She was not risking anything this time around. "I do, but if this kid is supposed to be as powerful as they claim, then it can take care of itself...eventually. Listen: I think this will all be fine. Right now, nothing will happen. We're all right. Okay?"

"Okay," whispered Quentin. He kissed her forehead and cuddled her closer to him. "Are you happy here? Is this the way we ought to go?"

"I'm happy now," said Constance, "and this is one of the few places we have left to go. You're not afraid, are you?"

"I'm scared shitless."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one."

Quentin laughed and wrapped her closer. "You're impossible."

"Would you love me if I wasn't?"

"I think I'd love you no matter what. Being impossible only makes you more relatable to me."

Constance only sighed. She still loved being so close to Quentin. She enjoyed it all the more because she knew she had him now. No one was going to stand in her way.

The End

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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