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Haunting Memories |
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Part 2 Chapter 12He didn’t have to wait long. He felt the pressure hit his back, a blow that forced him flat on his stomach. The pain shot through him like a tidal wave but only for an instant, then the pain was gone. Just like that and Quentin knew that this was the day he was meant to die. He was thankful he could feel no more pain, he had felt enough of it in his life. He blinked as red dots started to engulf his vision. The dots that appeared as small burning embers at first began to grow in size covering his vision slowly like a bright red blanket over his sky blue eyes. He blinked once more as his mind briefly wondered if he was going to heaven or hell, unfortunately he felt it would most certainly be hell after all he had done in his life. His senses seemed dull and lifeless as he heard the sound of a woman scream, it sounded so far away, so very far, as if it were coming from a world he no longer existed in… Then Quentin heard no more. Nick woke up with a start, something had startled him awake bringing him out of his peaceful slumber. What was it? It sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. Did it come from his window? Nick sat up in his bed as he rubbed his eyes, it was dark but he still felt tired from the night before. Too much was happening here and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. As Nick threw his legs over the side of the bed and began to sit up he heard a loud crash coming from outside, right under his window. He jumped out of bed and ran over to it, peering down he saw that the branch that had been tapping on his window as he fell asleep this morning had fallen… as had the large limb that it was attached to. Nick’s face paled visibly as he saw the form of a man under the large branch that had fallen to the ground, crushed from the heavy weight as it had descended on top of him. The man was lying on his stomach so Nick couldn’t see who it was but he had a strange and terrifying feeling that he knew the man. Before it all had a chance to sink in Nick had the disturbing feeling that he wasn’t alone in his hotel room. Perhaps it was Quentin Nick thought hopefully as he turned around. Facing his hotel room door Nick gasped at the sight he saw before him. ‘Death…life, did it have no meaning, no purpose? Why did you take him?’ his mind screamed in agony. It felt like the knife that had once been buried into his chest as he looked at his once loving and beautiful wife. "You were too young to die." Quentin said sadly as he cast his gaze down at the soft earth before his feet. Kneeling down he took the gun out of his pocket and fondled it in his hands; the metal felt so cold and cruel. He opened the chamber to reveal 6 bullets ready to end the most precious thing on this earth, life. He looked down again at his son’s unmarked grave. His handsome features frowned at the thought of it; he deserved so much more. He had fought with Edward and Judith endlessly about where his son should finally be laid to rest until he could simply fight no more. He had finally ‘agreed’ to have him buried here, in and unmarked grave in the woods on the Collinwood estate but he would never forgive Edward and Judith for what they had done to him, his son and daughter. ‘Everything could have been so different it they had told me about my children’ he said sighing. Quentin knew it was useless to think like that, nothing could change what had happened now. His son was dead, his wife was dead and nothing would bring them back now. Quentin wasn’t really aware that this had happened before. He was too caught up in the despair he had felt long ago to understand he was only reliving another sad and desperate part of his life. ‘If thing had been different…if...if…if…’ The pain he felt rushed down upon him like a tidal wave. Could he do it? Could he pull the trigger and end it all? His life and all the misery that it had caused? He heard the rustling of leaves behind him and turned in time to see Magda emerge from the thick forest. "Quentin…whadda ya doin’ here?" she said to him in her all to familiar gypsy accent. As usual she was dressed in her long gypsy skirt, white blouse and a vest that was the color of the forest surrounding them. He couldn’t understand how she could wear the thick fabric in the summer when it was so hot outside. "Please Magda, just leave me alone." Quentin said pleadingly as he hid the small revolver behind his back. He was only aware at that moment that he had been crying, his eyes must have been frightfully red and puffy. Confirming Quentin’s suspicions Magda replied, "You look like somethin’ the cat dragged in Quentin!" "I’m in no mood for your boring sarcasm and humor today Magda, please…" "Ha! Ya die and ya say you ain’t in the mood for humor! Perhaps ya really did change over all them years Quentin." "What? Die? What are you talking about Magda?" "Quentin, Quentin, Quentin. Remember how ya got here, remember the branch that fell on ya’? A flood of images entered his mind then as they brought back the memories. This had all happened before, he didn’t want to relive it again. Breaking free from the binds of his past he looked at Magda with eyes of understanding and not confusion. Yes, He remembered what had happened now. He was standing under a tree when one of the large limbs broke and landed on top of him. "Oh…yes." He whispered.
"You remember now, eh?" "It’s your life of course, your past and your future. You are always reliving it, I have come to help ya find your way." Nick stood frozen in utter shock, as a face seemed to be coming out of the wall, pressing as if trying to free itself. It was the face of a man. It was the face of Quentin Collins. Quentin’s hand appeared and reached towards Nick, trying to grasp him. Stumbling backward Nick looked for an escape. The figure inside the wall was too close to the door; he would try the window. Turning around he grasped the window lock, unlocked it and pushed up in an attempt to slide it open but the window wouldn’t budge. It was stuck just as the door to Collinwood had been stuck the night before. He had to try the door; he had to get out of this room. He wasn’t just going to stand here and let the ghost have him. Nick literally tried to fly out of the room but just as Nick opened the door and started through the door frame he felt an ice cold hand grab him from behind and pull him back into the room with startling strength. Nick watched in horror as he saw the rest of the ghost step out of the wall, slowly melting into the terrifying, ghostly figure before him. The ghost smiled cruelly and grabbed Nick’s right hand and squeezed it tightly, but to Nick’s surprise he quickly let go and then vanished completely. Shuddering in fear Nick turned in a circle searching the room for any sign of the evil ghost. Nothing. He was completely alone in the room once again. The phone began to ring and Nick walked over to it and started to answer, still in a daze. As he started to pick up the receiver he looked down at his hand and saw a strange mark on his palm. It was the silhouette of a 3-leaf clover… Chapter 13 As the phone continued to ring Nick’s eyes locked onto the unusual mark that had appeared on his hand. Where the heck did it come from? Nick realized the ghost must have left it when he quickly grabbed Nick’s hand before he disappeared. Picking up the phone he answered in a shaky and unsteady voice. "Hello?" "Hi, Nick? This is Merlin, you said to call when I had information on a man; Quentin Collins." "Oh yeah, hey Merlin. Whatcha’ got for me?" Nick asked his old friend, hoping he sounded a little steadier than when he first answered.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing. The guy doesn’t exist." " Here’s the deal. On the surface everything checks out; license, credit cards, birth certificate etc. However, the birth certificate if definitely a fake. If you check out the name of the parents and follow up on them you discover they don’t exist. His whole family is made up. This man must be pretty smart though, unless checked by an expert no one would know that he had faked everything."
"You’re the expert Merlin, what else did you find out about him,
anything?" "No, he’s not a Vampire. I’m sure of that much but I am convinced he is hiding something. When did the other Quentin live and when?" "Quentin Collins was born in 1870 in Collinsport, Maine. He lived up at the Collinwood Mansion while growing up." Nick took in a sharp breath, if this was indeed the same man Quentin had lied to him already. He was very familiar with Collinwood.
"Later he was sent away to Boston for school then College where he
studied for 4 years, his grades where quite good it seemed. I still want
to check in on some of that, I want to see exactly what he studied.
Anyway, he returned to Collinwood after College. I don’t know why
exactly but he was never given a position in the family business, which is
odd since his living brother and sister both had a large part in it and he
was so successful in college. It may have been because he was so young
when he disappeared. He was only 27. In 1897, towards the end of the year
he was visiting Paris and it is assumed that he died there not long after
he arrived. In any case he was never heard from again. I have sent you
some pictures of the original Quentin Collins and well as some other basic
information I uncovered. I think you will be quite shocked at the
resemblance, you should receive them sometime tomorrow morning at the
address you gave me. That’s really all I can tell you, there is very
little on Quentin Collins." So many questions went through Nick’s mind as he opened the mini fridge humming away in the corner of the hotel room and downed his dinner from one of the many frosted green bottles resting on the shelf inside. LaCroix was disoriented and dizzy. He didn’t know what was happening to him, he had never felt this way in his life, which was quite a feat. He thought he had felt everything there was to feel. It was as if he were floating in a thick, damp mist. Like he had no weight, he couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. He saw nothing but mist, surrounding and engulfing him. What had the ghost done to him? The last thing he remembered was the dead man, that evil ghost touching him on the head…then nothing. He had blacked out only to awaken here, in this strange world that seemed to be made of nothing but mist. There was movement to his side, catching his eye. Looking over he took a deep breath and held it in. A shadow silently moved through the dense fog, gliding towards him as if this shadow figure was nothing but air itself. Perhaps that’s what it was. He couldn’t tell who the figure was or even whether it was a man or a woman. As it moved closer LaCroix noticed that the figure wasn’t anyone one in particular for it had no features. It had no face. It was merely a form, a human form perhaps but nothing more. It held up its hand, and beckoned him to follow. Realizing that there really was no other choice LaCroix cautiously began to follow it, despite his better judgment. All of his instincts were telling him not to go yet he could feel it’s strange and seductive pull. So he continued to follow the misty form into the dark abyss that was the world LaCroix found himself in now. "Find my way?" Quentin asked as he eyed Magda with fright. He hadn’t seen her for so many years, it seemed impossible to see her standing before him now as young as she was when he left Collinsport in 1897. Magda Rakosi, he thought with bitterness, the cause of all the problems that had arrived at Collinwood in 1897. No, Quentin knew that wasn’t true. It was he who had brought the trouble; he had done so his entire life and he couldn’t blame Magda for that. "Yeah, it ain’t your time to die but you crossed the threshold because your injuries where so extensive. It’ll take time for yer portrait to fix it."
"So, your saying right now I am dead?"
"Death will not let ya go so easily. He can be greedy and unfair,
your body is dead right now and he has been waiting over 100 years for
that to happen. You were supposed to die in 1897 before yer friend
Barnabas interfered. He is not happy about it. Soon your cold dead
body’s heart will begin to beat again as the portrait corrects all your
injuries. However you must escape this realm before your spirit can enter
the body once again. Your body will remain in a coma until you do
so." "Do nothin’, just don’t get lost in your past. If you do so you could be lost forever. Until your body regenerates itself you will be left in this realm and to your past. If you let yourself be caught up in it you will belong to it forever. Don’t give into it, if you remember this meeting and how you died this will not happen and you will enter your body when it is ready for you." "That seems easy enough."
"No! It ain’t gonna be easy, you think this now but you will not
when you feel the pull of your past. Your feelings where in turmoil and
were the most powerful in 1897 so that is most likely where you will go
again. Your past can be very dangerous. Be careful Quentin, I know you and
how foolish you can be at times. I also know you are cunning and smart,
use your brains and willpower and you will be fine." "Yeah, best of luck to you Quentin." With that Magda gave him one last appraising and doubtful look, then was gone. Quentin looked around, Magda was gone and so was the forest that surrounded them as they talked. Quentin was left alone once again. The dark of night surrounded him as he wondered what was to come. He shivered despite himself. He wondered what part of the past he would be forced to live again. His past had been so painful to even think about. How was he going to live through it all again? Chapter 14 Following the strange misty figure LaCroix found them stopping in front of a large iron door. Slowly the faceless figure turned and motioned for him to open it. LaCroix felt it's strange pull once again along with his own personal curiosity so he cautiously moved towards it and opened the door. Beyond the doorway he saw a large room that looked familiar. Yes, it was a room inside the Collinwood Mansion. Turning around to look at the figure once again he discovered it was no longer alone. There was another taller and broader figure and LaCroix was pretty sure it was a man, yet like the other figure it had no face so he could not tell who ...or what it was. The second figure stepped towards him and without warning pushed LaCroix through the doorway. He heard an unearthly scream as he fell to a carpeted floor in a heap, feeling his body's weight descend upon him once more. Opening his eyes he looked around and realized that he was no longer in a room that belonged to the 21st century. Nick was still looking at the mark that was on his hand when he heard someone knocking on the door. He had tried to wash it off, scrubbing vigorously but to know avail. Opening his hotel room door he immediately recognized the man before him as the man who ran the front desk of the inn.
"Mr. Knight?" He asked in a nervous voice. "It’s about the man you were with the night you checked in… Mr. Collins. I’m afraid there’s been an accident…" he paused as he caught Nick’s startled expression, his voice trailing off. Nick was not just startled he was shocked. After what Merlin had just told him Quentin Collins didn’t seem like the type of being to just have an accident. "What happened?"
"He was standing out front I gather when a large branch from the
tree outside your window snapped off. I’m… I’m afraid he had no time
to move and the branch landed on top of him." "He’s hurt pretty bad. I called 911 and the ambulance just arrived… but I don’t think he was breathing Mr. Knight." Nick took in a sharp breath; this was something he never expected. If Quentin were immortal like Nick suspected then wouldn’t he be able to heal himself? Or had his body simply not had a chance? The sudden memory of himself in the Toronto hospital after being shot in the head came to mind. He and his partner Tracy were out on another one of their cases when he suddenly felt the searing pain, as if a stick of dynamite had exploded in his brain, then nothing…total blackness. It had taken him sometime to recover; he even had amnesia for a while. Perhaps, if Quentin Collins were seriously injured like he once was it would take time for him to heal as well. He needed to find out where they took Quentin Collins. Quentin reached the edge of the woods, now able to see the front doors of Collinwood. His memory of Magda seemed to be disappearing slowly as if it had only been a dream and he was finally waking up. No! He told himself firmly. It had not been a dream; he had to remember that he was here in this time only temporarily. As he reached the door Magda’s warning echoed through his mind… "Do nothin’, just don’t get lost in your past. If you do so you could be lost forever." He took a deep breath as a cold shiver crept up his spine. He couldn’t get lost. Opening the door slowly Quentin stepped inside the threshold of Collinwood and was immediately overcome with a tidal wave of emotions. He staggered back a little, overwhelmed by his past feelings. Pain. Rage. Sorrow. Resentment. Love. Greed. Pity. Confusion. Anger. Oh yes… and humility. He felt them all but it was the pain and sorrow that he felt the most. He could feel his mind spiraling downward into a familiar depression as his important meeting with Magda drifted out of his mind much like a bottle carrying a message drifts out to sea. ‘I need a brandy’ Quentin thought to himself as he started into the drawing room briefly glancing at the large grandfather clock that stood in the foyer ever since he was a small child. Reaching out to the doorknob of the drawing room, he was about to turn it when he stopped. He didn’t just see what he thought he saw did he? Backing up he looked at the old clock again, particularly at the pendulum. Nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary. No, he couldn’t have seen what he thought he saw. It was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? He was startled out of his reverie by a noise coming from inside the drawing room and looked at the closed doors. Someone was inside the room, not surprising but disappointing non-the-less. He had wanted to be alone, well not exactly alone. A nice full snifter of brandy would be a perfect companion for him on the perfectly depressing evening. He gave one last suspicious glance at the old grandfather clock and froze. There it was again. He blinked once. Twice. It was gone in the blink of an eye. Quentin was sure he saw it though. A long Scimitar. Swinging back and forth, back and forth… In place of the grandfather clock’s pendulum. He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘It must be a daydream from when Aristede held me captive in the mill…’ Quentin thought warily looking at the clock again. ‘…Or a day nightmare. Now I really need a brandy.’ Approaching the drawing room doors he was interrupted once again by a familiar, high-pitched woman’s voice with a heavy cockney accent. "Well now, why such a long face, luve?" Quentin turned around to see the young woman that was standing behind him. She was very small; petite was the right word for it, she barley made 5 feet in height, which was a stark contrast to Quentin who was well over 6 feet tall. He towered over her and the couple times they kissed he had found it very awkward. She had long platinum blonde hair that she wore up on top of her head in a disheveled heap and her face was heavily painted for the year 1897. She wore a long green dress and a bright orange shall over her shoulders. They clashed wickedly with each other and Quentin remembered his older sister Judith reprimanding her earlier for it. The woman before him was Charity Trask or rather it used to be Charity… that was before Count Petofi possessed her mind with the spirit of Pansy Faye. A showgirl from Atlantic City his late brother Carl was going to marry, however once he brought her to Collinwood she lasted only one night before she ‘disappeared’. His Cousin Barnabas Collins however had told him the truth later, the mad and deranged Collins’ servant, Dirk Wilkins had strangled her to death. "I was just going into the drawing room to have a glass of brandy." Quentin told her, dodging her question. "Oh, would you like a spot of company then? A good glass of brandy would perk me spirits up." Quentin groaned inwardly but gave her a small smile. He had wanted to be alone but knew that if he tried to get rid of her now she would just keep pestering him until he relented. "Sure." "A bit of all right you are! I can’t think of no one else I rather be sittin’ and sippin’ brandy with luve." The grandfather clock hit the stroke of 9 causing Quentin to jump. The night was still young and it left plenty of time for Quentin to get wondrously drunk. "What’s the matter luve?" "Nothing." He said as he turned and opened the drawing room doors. Stepping inside they were surprised to find a man that neither had seen before. Quentin had heard a sound in the drawing room earlier but being so edgy he had completely forgotten about it. Sighing, he looked at the Charity and then the man. He definitely wasn’t going to get any solitude tonight. The man was around or just under 6 feet in height and had shortly cropped blonde hair. He was also wearing the most bizarre clothes. ‘Familiar clothes.’ Quentin’s mind whispered, confusing him even more. The man looked at Quentin with genuine fear reflected in his eyes and stood motionless. "I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Quentin Collins and this…" he said gesturing towards Charity "…is Charity Trask although she prefers that you call her Pansy." "That’s right luve, I ain’t gunna be called that stupid name." "And you are?" Quentin prompted the man who still remained silent. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, why was he looking at him so strangely? "I…my name is Lucien." Chapter 15 "My name is Lucien." LaCroix said finally, he wasn’t sure why he said his rarely used first name but for some reason his instincts told him not to use ‘LaCroix’ just yet. "Well, I was just about to have a brandy with Pansy here, would you like to join us?" Quentin asked. "No, thank you." LaCroix stared at the tall, lean man who stood before him, happily pouring a couple glasses of brandy for himself and Pansy. He took the glass with the most and handed Pansy the other. ‘Charming’ LaCroix thought wryly. This man was the ghost but yet… he wasn’t. This one looked alive and didn’t seem evil like the ghost had been. His eyes reflected pain rather than hate. Quentin wore a long charcoal blue frock coat and pants with long sideburns adorning the side of his handsome and brooding features. He looked exactly like the ghost. Looking around the room once again he decided that somehow he must have traveled back in time…to the Victorian era? It was obvious that Quentin had died a young man, was it possible that he arrived before he passed on? In any case, he wasn’t going to trust this Quentin Collins just yet. "So, are you hear to see my brother?" Quentin asked him nonchalantly, seemingly more interested in his brandy than LaCroix’s answer. "Or is it my sister you are here to see, I am afraid she’s taken her leave from Collinwood for awhile. Can’t say that I blame her, I don’t know when she will return." Quentin knew that she was really at the sanitarium, being treated but wasn’t about to tell this stranger that. LaCroix decided it would be much wiser to pretend acquaintance with his ‘sister’ rather than brother. At least he wouldn’t have to use his powers or think of a great lie. "Oh? Well I was here to see her. I’m an old friend." "Oh?" Quentin said suspiciously, looking up from his brandy. It sounded more like a challenge than a question. LaCroix started to answer when the drawing room doors swung open revealing an older man in his early 50’s perhaps, wearing what looked like a reverend’s attire. LaCroix however got the feeling that he was far from a holy man. "Ah, I see the honorable Reverend Trask has decided to join us in a drink!" Quentin announced sarcastically. "You know very well that I don’t approve of intoxicating beverages. If I had my way-" "-they would be band from Collinwood. Yes, yes I know." Quentin said, finishing his sentence. Quentin gave Trask a wicked smirk as he approached him. "Luckily Trask you don’t have your way, much to your sorrow I presume." "I don’t know what you’re talking about Quentin." "I’m sure!" Quentin replied with a laugh. "Lucien, may I present to you Mr. Gregory Trask. My sister Judith’s loving and devoted husband… unfortunately." "Reverend, please." Trask said trying to make a point… and a good impression on the stranger. "Oh come off it Trask." Quentin said harshly taking another swig of his brandy. He absolutely despised him and he was sure Trask felt the same about him. "Trask, this is Lucien. He came here to visit your wife. I told him that she was out of town." LaCroix watched the scene play out between the two with amusement. One could just feel the hatred radiating between the two and he suspected that there was more here that meets the eye. "An honor to meet you Mr. ?" LaCroix sighed. He didn’t want to give his full name but saw no way around it. "LaCroix. Lucien LaCroix." "Ah Mr. LaCroix, you said you were –" he began but was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass startling everyone in the room. Trask turned around to find that Quentin had dropped his glass and had a confused and fearful expression on his face. He was standing still as a statue. "Quentin luve, what’s the matter?" Pansy asked as concern filled her deep blue eyes. "Quentin?" He didn’t answer. She went to him and shook him gently, "Quentin, please say somethin’." Still he said nothing and his eyes seemed far away. Quentin couldn’t move, he knew that name. LaCroix. The vague tip of a memory began to pierce his brain like a sharp knife, cutting into any other thoughts he had. "Lucien LaCroix…" he whispered remembering something that had happened. Was it something from his past? No. Not from the past… "I need you to tell me everything you saw and everything you know… but not now. We need to leave." He said to the man standing next to him. Quentin knew very well what the ghost was capable of and didn’t want to stay and witness it for himself. And he didn’t want to see him again. "I can’t! My friend LaCroix is still in the house. I think the ghost has done something to him." His new companion Nick and replied. He was scared for his friend, truth be told Quentin feared for the man as well… face to face with that monster. "Then you have no idea where in the house he is?" He asked knowing the answer to the question even before he asked it. Of course he didn’t know. "No, but I am positive the ghost has him." "All right, all right." Quentin said as he slipped his hood back over his head. The rain had begun pouring down again making things positively dreary, giving everything a sad sense of hopelessness. As if the evening needed any help. ‘A hopeless night for a hopeless case’ Quentin thought to himself. Deciding not to voice his real opinion he continued, logic was prevailing. "We can’t go back into the house again. At least not yet, we are not prepared and I don’t even know the full events of this evening yet." "But I can’t just leave—" "Listen to me, the ghost may be using your friend to lure you and possible even me into Collinwood. We would be walking straight into his trap, if you go back in there now you will be doing exactly what he wants. Come with me, we need to get out of here…now." Quentin had never meant anything more than he meant that. They needed to leave desperately; hopefully the ghost hadn’t seen him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he thought of what may happen if the ghost did see him. Starting to walk in the direction of his car Quentin looked back at Nick who was staring at the large mansion with despair. Quentin could see the worry and concern for his friend written on his face. "Don’t worry Nick, we’ll come back for him when we know we can help him." Now he remembered. He wasn’t from 1897 anymore. He belonged to the present…or future. He had died and was reliving his past again… ‘Don’t get lost’ Magda’s voice echoed inside his mind. Lost, he had started to get lost and didn’t even realize it. "Quentin please!" a voice shouted breaking Quentin out of his thoughts…out of his memory of a time yet to come. Quentin put one hand to his face and uttered a moan; he had a terrible headache. Pansy started to lead him to the sofa but he gently broke away, he wanted to be alone in his room. "No…no. I’m all right." He told her. Turning to the two men he continued… "Please excuse me, I have a terrible headache and I think I will go to bed for the evening." "Yes, of course." LaCroix said to him, confused. Why did he have such a strong reaction to his name? Why did he act so strangely? "Thanks, goodnight. It was nice meeting you … LaCroix." Quentin left the drawing room and made his way to the West Wing, more specifically to his room. His head throbbed and he hoped that some peace and quite would make it stop. He walked to the corridor that led to his room, he was the only one that lived in the West Wing and usually he was happy for it; tonight was one of those days. However it could get lonely, some would say that his family was generous and he was lucky to have an entire wing of Collinwood… however he knew the truth and couldn’t really blame them. His family couldn’t stand his presence and the farther away from them he was the better. They were never happier when he was in Egypt and traveling around the world. He sighed heavily, being here again made him see how foolish and greedy he really was. But then again, it wasn’t just him. It was all of them, Judith… Edward… Trask… everyone. None of them were saints, Judith and Edward for stealing his children away and locking Jenny up in the cold, damp and abandoned tower room. Edward… he had done a great many things to Quentin. Some where understandable because of Quentin’s actions… some were not. He wondered if his brother truly hated him. Did he hate Edward? He didn’t think he hated him, he disliked him yes…but hate? No. He was pretty sure Judith didn’t hate him, he really didn’t mind her too much… he probably even liked her if he thought enough about it. That was why her behavior had hurt him the most, what made her go along with Edward in this conspiracy to hide his two babies from his knowledge? After living all those years he still didn’t know the answers to those questions and he ached more now than ever to know the answers. Walking down the hall his eyes stopped on a portrait. A portrait had always hung on the wall in this hallway… but he was positive that this particular one didn’t. It was a regular head to chest portrait. But the man who was portrayed in the portrait was anything but regular. It was a portrait of Count Andreas Petofi. Quentin took a step back and shuddered. What was a portrait of him doing in a West Wing hall of Collinwood? Had Petofi himself put it there? A cold, light finger tapped on his left shoulder making him jump. Whirling around quickly he found himself looking into the large, penetrating eyes of Jenny Collins… his dead wife. She didn’t look insane like she had the day she died. No, Jenny looked the way she had looked when he first married her… when she was beautiful, sweet and innocent. When they were both innocents. She looked up and down the hall, making sure they were alone and no one was listening. "Tainted" she whispered quickly. Quentin blinked. She was gone. Chapter 16 Quentin went straight to his room, shut the door and locked it. Sinking into the chair by his old gramophone he pondered what his dead wife Jenny could have meant…. ‘Tainted’, that was all she had said before she vanished into thin air. What did she mean? Did she mean that he was tainted? That wasn’t a startling revelation. He was cursed after all, but could it be that she meant something else? Sighing in frustration Quentin got up and poured himself another brandy, gulping it down in one swallow. Pouring another he turned on his gramophone sat down and let himself be carried off by the soft, caressing melody of a waltz… his favorite record. Everyone, including Quentin himself had just started calling it his theme. Quentin’s Theme He closed his eyes as his body slowly and reluctantly relaxed. His mind thought of Jenny and their happy times together before everything went bad. They were few and far between but they did exist and this was his mind’s destination as he listened to his record over and over, softly humming to the song. Nick had gotten back from the hospital just before sunrise. Closing the curtains he went over to the bed and lied down, the news about Quentin had not been good. When he first arrived at the hospital in Collinsport they had just pronounced him DOA. However while Doctor Benson was breaking the news to him about Quentin’s death a nurse rushed in and announced he was breathing and had a pulse. Nick would have laughed at the expression Doctor Benson had on his face had the whole situation not been so frightening to him. After everyone was agreed that Quentin was alive after all Doctor Benson stated his condition as critical and decided he needed to be transferred to a large hospital in Portland that could handle his needs. Nick had a feeling that Quentin would probably take care of everything himself in do time and prayed the hospital staff didn’t discover Quentin’s supernatural abilities. After tonight Nick was certain that Mr. Quentin Collins was far from normal…or human. Even with all these thought’s running through his head it didn’t take long for Nick to drift off & fall asleep from pure exhaustion of the night. At first all he could see was a long dinning room table. He was in a dinning room… but from where? He was sure he had never seen this room before. ….Collinwood…. He knew it was the dinning room inside Collinwood…but how? He had never seen it when he was in the old mansion. The room was bright… extremely bright. Nick couldn’t see anything clearly and what he could see was becoming more and more transparent as if it were dissolving away. Without warning the room was filled with a blinding white light and Nick was sure for one horrible second that he was outside, during the day, in the hot unforgiving sun. But then it faded away and his eyes began to adjust to the normally dim lit dinning room. He heard the faint and steady tick of the old wood clock in the corner; it was then that he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. He could see clearly now and what a bizarre sight it was. Eight people sat around the long oak table. In front of each one was a nametag with a name written on it with old fashion handwriting. Slowly Nick walked around the table reading each name out loud to himself. Judith Collins Edward Collins Lady Kitty Hampshire Reverend Gregory Trask Jamison Collins Nora Collins Charity Trask And there, sitting at the head of the table was a man Nick had seen several times. Quentin Collins He looked at each person at the table. They were so still; their eyes were so lifeless… like pieces of glass or marble. They looked like statues. Tick….Tick….Tick. The sound of the clock echoed through the room giving it an empty feeling. Nick leaned over closer to the person with the nametag ‘Charity Trask’. There was no breathing, no warmth coming from her body. They all looked like they were made out of porcelain. Nick reached out to her, touching Charity’s arm lightly. Cold. Hard. They were statues. Every one of them was a lifeless porcelain statue. They had every detail, every likeness to a real person. Following his gaze down Charity’s arm to her right hand Nick was horrified to discover that she didn’t have one. He looked at all the other statues… they too were all missing their right hands, only a stub with a little ‘bone’ protruding from each was visible. Nick took a step back from the dinning room table trying to grasp what he saw. Why would a talented artist sculpt everyone in the family with awesome detail, then leave off their right hand? A slight movement in the bizarre porcelain museum caused him to jump and look towards the head of the table. He stared at the statue of Quentin hard but could see no movement; he must have imagined it. Still, he could swear he saw those blue glass eyes blink. Just once… while Nick’s eyes were not focused on him. Unlike the other statues whose hand was sitting in their laps, he had both his hands and they were lying flat on top of the table. Nick went over too him, bending down and getting a closer look. Quentin was wearing black gloves on both hands and staring straight ahead. Tick…Tick…Tick… Nick took a deep breath, unaware that he really didn’t need to. He was a Vampire after all. Reaching out he hesitated only a second before touching Quentin’s right arm. Cold. But it wasn’t hard; it was soft like real skin. Quentin’s left hand quickly and unexpectedly reached over and grabbed Nick’s, holding tightly. Looking up and at his face he saw the frozen features begin to move into a wicked smile as his eyes blinked one more time. Nick struggled to get away but couldn’t, he felt weak and drained and wasn’t sure why. His puzzlement must have shown on his face because Quentin began to laugh. It started out in his normal voice but began to take on new characteristics as he continued… getting deeper and more hoarse… like an older man’s laughter. Nick tried to pull away again and was roughly pushed against the wall as Quentin stood. Approaching Nick Quentin still continued to laugh in an unfamiliar voice. It wasn’t Quentin’s laughter at all. It wasn’t his voice. ‘He still looks like he’s made of porcelain.’ Nick’s mind thought as he watched him get closer. His skin had no flaws; it was perfect, smooth and cold as ice. Suddenly Quentin stopped laughing, gave him a pitying look and held out his right hand as if he wanted Nick to shake his hand. Nick looked up at him will shock, fear and confusement all rolled into one as Quentin continued to offer his hand. Quentin gave a little nod as if to say that it was all right. Looking into his eyes Nick felt compelled to do it, ‘Was this what it was like for his victims when he hypnotized them and messed with their minds? Was this what it was like to be a vampire’s victim?’ He reached out and grabbed Quentin’s right hand knowing that no good could come of it… and he was right. He felt a surge, like an electric shock as soon as their hands made contact. Nick pulled away as quickly as he could. ‘Oh god no.’ Nick thought as he looked down. In his hand he firmly held Quentin’s glove covered right hand. It had come off when they shook. He shuddered inwardly but upon closer inspection he realized that it was a fake hand. Nick dropped it to the ground and it shattered on the dinning rooms tile floor. It was made of porcelain too. He felt dizzy, sick, weak. He collapsed to his knees as the room became bright again, he looked up as the light was about to blind him and saw Quentin looking down at him with impassive interest. Bright white light filled the rest of his vision until he could see no more of the horrible porcelain statues, Quentin Collins or missing hands. Slowly the white light faded away and as he opened his eyes he realized that he was in his hotel room bed once again. Was it just a dream? A nightmare? Or was it some kind of message from the ghost of Quentin Collins? Portland, Maine - Portland Hospital She looked down at the tall stack of papers in dismay, as she had gotten older she had learned to hate paper work. She had once loved it. It would give her a distraction and something to do. Now however she disliked it with a passion and made up her mind to put it off until tomorrow, instead she wanted to look over the list of her new patients. She always got a list of the patients with head injuries because, if they survived she would sometimes need to find therapists or physiologists if they had amnesia or missing memories. She often used to treat them herself but she no longer did so now. She knew that she should retire, let herself rest and enjoy the rest of her life but what would she do? Pine over her lost love and friends? Remember the horrors that she had seen? No, she needed her job here. It was all she had left. She looked down at her nameplate: Manager. Sighing, she grabbed a cup of tea, picked up the list of new patients with old, tired hands and flipped through them as she sipped. The normal batch of patients… Rick Ford Terry Shean Laura Harding Jerry King Sean Lee She read over them with little interest when suddenly a name from the far distant past jump out at her. She dropped her glass of tea immediately and gasped. ‘No! It couldn’t possibly be… but it was. He had to be dead by now. He would be over 130 years old. It had to be a different man…’ But as she read the name over and over she knew that it wasn’t so. It couldn’t be another person. After all there was only one Quentin Collins. Her secretary ran in with a worried expression. She must have heard her drop the cup of tea. "Dr. Hoffman! Are you all right? I heard something break." Chapter 17 LaCroix surveyed the ‘green bedroom’. After talking with the boring Gregory Trask for well over an hour he had had quite enough and decided the best thing to do would be to retire to bed, planning on going to an Inn in Collinsport. Mr. Trask however wouldn’t hear of it and insisted that he stay in Collinwood. He wasn’t sure if he was happy about it or not. He didn’t trust Trask. He didn’t trust Quentin. He hadn’t even met Edward yet… and the biggest question of all; how was he going to explain his absence during the day? LaCroix chuckled to himself as he went over to the window and looked out at the moonlit night. Perhaps he could use dear Nicholas’ explanation, a skin disease or disorder that prevented him from going into the sun. Either that or use his powers… well he didn’t need to cross that bridge until he arrived there. What worried him most was how he got here and how he was going to get back. He didn’t like the thought of being stuck here indefinitely. He had been getting the strangest feeling ever since he arrived. Everything felt real yet it didn’t. It felt like something was out of place, not quite right. He knew it wasn’t a dream, the ghost of Quentin Collins had sent him back in time. What he couldn’t figure out was for what reason? The answer had to lye with Quentin Collins. "Petofi, it’s late. Can’t this wait until tomorrow morning?" "No, dear boy. It can’t wait… there is something that I want you to do for me." "If you want something done Petofi, do it yourself! You’ve got the power to do it much easier than I." Quentin had had enough of his orders. He had had enough of being pushed around. Besides, he knew that he didn’t belong in this time and was already dead so what could Petofi possibly do? "My… my, feeling particularly brave today are we? You haven’t even heard what I want you to do yet."
"Petofi, you are so transparent. I know exactly what you want me to do." Quentin said smugly causing Petofi to give him a confused and rather surprised look. "Why are you suddenly so different Quentin, my boy?"
"I’m not." "How right you are. You surprise me, perhaps you are smarter than you look." "Oh, very funny." Quentin was filled with rage but managed to hid it well just like he always did under a cool, calm and glib-tongued exterior. He knew how it effected people and had used it many times to his advantage… and dis- advantage. It could also get him into trouble. This was one of those times.
"You’re going to kill him for me Quentin." Quentin knew he had pushed it too far. Petofi was not one to take his tongue, especially when it was aimed at him… but it felt so good, so satisfying that Quentin had to laugh. His laughter abruptly ended however when Petofi smacked him hard across the face.
"You will pay for that!" Petofi shouted at him with rage.
"What did you think you would gain by speaking to me in that
manor?" Petofi stepped closer to him and raised his hand menacingly as a smile slowly crept onto his lips. Quentin took a step back and then another but Petofi kept coming towards him. He kept backing up until his back was pressed up against the wall and he could go no further. Petofi was right in front of him now and there was no way to escape. He waved his hand in front of Quentin’s face. Blackness began to descend on Quentin’s vision as his eyes began to burn. He shut his eyes and covered his face in his hands as he started to panic. What had Petofi done to him? As the blackness and burning began to disappear he slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes once again. He was still in his room but it looked different somehow. Everything looked clearer and sharper, he realized that he could see much better than he could before. He never thought his eyesight was bad, nothing ever seemed blurry to him until now. He looked across the room towards his desk and realized that he could read the note lying on top of it even from where he was standing. But there was something else too. He couldn’t define colors. Red, Yellow, Blue, Orange… they all looked the same to him. But he realized that it wasn’t just his eyesight that had improved… but all of his senses. He swallowed hard as a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening, it didn’t happen the first time around… had he changed his own past? He took a second look around, where was Petofi? He was gone; he must have left while Quentin had his eyes closed. "Petofi!" Quentin shouted. "Petofi, what have you done!" He didn’t know what to do. He walked over to his half full glass of brandy sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. Upon arrival he took several large gulps. As he felt it burn down his throat he began to feel a little calmer. Then he saw the letters scrawled on his mirror above the fireplace mantle… in what he hoped was only blood red paint. But he knew that it wasn’t paint. It was blood. ‘DETNIAT’ It took him a minute to realize that it was backwards, as if someone had written it from the other side of the mirror – but he knew that was impossible. Wasn’t it? ‘TAINTED’ There was that word again…what did it mean! As his eyes continued to stare at the frightening word his eyes focused on something behind them in the mirror. They focused on his reflection. What he saw was much more frightening then the words scrawled in blood. LaCroix was bored. Extremely bored. He had never ‘gone to bed’ this early in all his vampire life, he had nothing to do and what was worse... he had nothing to eat. He decided it was time to go out and get a little midnight snack. He checked the closet and found some more appropriate men’s clothes for the year, put them on and opened his bedroom door to checked the hall and make sure the coast was clear. It was and he slipped out in search of a little nighttime snack. Petofi entered the old mill on the Collins Estate. He was staying there for the time being and he looked forward to more pleasant surroundings. The mill was dark, damp and sparsely furnished. An old music stand stood in the corner… his favorite piece. He had traveled all over the world and so had the music stand, he almost thought himself foolish for doing so but it was an important part of his past and he held on to it unwilling to let go. He sat down on the tattered sofa in the middle of the room and smiled to himself as he lit an expensive cigar. Yes, tonight would be an interesting and enlightening night for Mr. Collins. He has grown bolder, stronger and braver. It surprised him. He would have thought that it would be the other way around. Quentin would have been a tough enemy had Petofi been mortal… human. However he wasn’t human and he wasn’t about to let Quentin go. First Quentin is going to learn a lesson he will never forget. Then I will take what I have wanted for so very long. He wasn’t going to let what happened before happen again. It was extremely late. Julia knew that she should go home and come back to the hospital in the morning but she couldn’t. She had to see him… she had to know. She waited outside his room in the hall; the doctors were examining him now. They had been ever since he arrived yesterday; she had a feeling that they were completely baffled even after taking all his X-rays. She heard footsteps approaching her from behind and looked over hoping that it was one of the doctors, however it wasn’t a doctor, it was a young man. He had short golden hair and was average height. She thought that he was quite handsome even if his complexion was rather pale. "Hi, I was looking for room 197. Could you tell me where I can find it?" He asked politely.
Julia was a little shocked but didn’t let it show. Room 197 was the
room that they were keeping ‘Quentin’ in. She pointed to her right and
told him, "It’s right there but I’m afraid he isn’t allowed any
visitors at the moment. The doctors are in there with him now." No, her mind was just jumping to conclusions. He explained why he was so pale, why he couldn’t go out in the sun. But still… perhaps it was safer to find out for sure before letting him near the man in room 197. Quentin stared into the mirror in horror… past the letters scrawled in blood. He was staring at his own reflection. His eyes… there was something terribly wrong with his eyes. His pupils were thin and narrow like… "No…" Quentin whispered to himself in terror. They looked like a wolf’s eyes. He couldn’t tell what color they were… he couldn’t define any colors, he could see clearer because his eyes were that of a werewolf. He let out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes. ‘It’s just a dream…wake up.’ He thought to himself. He opened his eyes again and looked back into the mirror. His eyes were still like a wolf’s eyes. "Wake up…wake up…wake up!" He shouted to himself as he closed his eyes again in desperation. When he looked at himself again he saw that there was no change. He ran to his window and looked outside into the black night, looked at the moon. Quentin shivered as the silvery light shined into his room.
It was a full moon tonight. Chapter 18 LaCroix stepped into the small pub named "The Blue Whale" and was instantly assaulted with the smell of alcohol, cheap cigarette’s and a high pitched voice singing a bawdy song. This was not normally his type of place. He preferred the more expensive lifestyle. However, since this was the * only * place in town and he was hungry this would have to do. Across the tables he recognized Charity or rather Pansy as the owner of the voice singing. Her face was covered with even more make-up then when he met her before at Collinwood as she danced lewdly from table to table. She wasn’t very talented but the drunks probably didn’t care one way or another as long as she was good to look at. He sighed, despite all the heavy make-up she actually was easy on the eyes. LaCroix let a small smile play across his lips as he watched his next meal in hungry anticipation. Quentin stared at the icy moon with his wolf-like eyes as its cold light washed over him, enveloping him. A feeling started to stir within him and he forgot all about the problems that faced him. He wanted to run. Run and run until he reached the end of the earth and could run no more. He wanted to be free; nothing else mattered to him. Nothing at all. He left the West Wing the back way, no one but himself ever used it anymore, not even the servants. As he stepped into the moonlight the instinct became stronger. He didn’t try to fight it. "Run" he whispered to himself as he looked up at the moon. "Run." He took off into the forest, going as fast as he could. The trees were a blur as he ran like a mad man, the moon still visible through the treetops. He felt the cool night air against his face as his dark brown hair danced in the wind. It felt so good to be free, outside the walls of Collinwood that so often felt like a locked cage. As he ran deeper into the forest the treetops became thicker as less and less moonlight began to leak through. The instinct to run began to slowly disappear as his side began to ache. Quentin slowed to a stop and slowly sank to the ground. What was he doing? What was wrong with him? He had completely lost control of himself. He looked up towards the sky but it was completely blocked by the thick trees. Quentin’s breathing was ragged and heavy as he looked around him, he must have been deep inside the forest. He didn’t recognize where he was and the vegetation was thick. The bark of the trees around him was covered with a dark green moss and the night seemed to press in on him as he looked into the blackness that came from every direction. Looking down at his arms he could see that his shirt was completely torn to shreds from having gone through the thick underbrush. He blinked a couple times and realized that his eyesight was back to normal as well. Quentin could feel his arms begin to tingle and sting and he realized that he had scraped himself up badly. Quentin took a deep, shaky breath… he was frightened. It was cold and dark and he had no idea which way to go. The darkness seemed to keep closing in on him and he knew that no matter what was happening to him he had to get out of the dark, haunting woods. Slowly he pulled himself off the ground; his body protesting every move as it ached all over. He spun around once and began walking in the direction that he was facing. Julia eyed the man before her suspiciously. Could he be a vampire? All the signs were there; she had to find out. She reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around a silver chain necklace. A gift given to her long ago, it was from Barnabas Collins. He had given it to her when Doctor Lang had momentarily cured him from his vampirism. Ever since that terrible night in 1969 she had kept it with her, a reminder of the past that haunted her still. "What’s your name?" Nick asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Dr. Julia Hoffman.... You know Mr. Knight; I used to know Quentin a long time ago. That is, if this is the man I think it is." Julia said casually. "Really? Was he a good friend?" "Not at first but he slowly grew on me. He has suffered greatly in his life. I hope that he pulls though this."
"Do you think he will?" She sounded very sure. Nick wondered just what she was up too. She seemed to know Quentin quite well. Just how long ago had she known him? Did she know Quentin’s secrets? Did Julia Hoffman know the secrets that he had been trying so hard to find? He started to say something when Julia interrupted. "He gave me the most beautiful necklace, I always have it with me…" Julia lied smoothly as she reached in her pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. "See?" she continued as she held dangled it in front of Nick’s face. Nick gasped as he pulled back instinctively and shuddered. He put his arms in front of him in a protectively, he had not been prepared for her ‘gift’. "Isn’t the cross lovely." Julia continued as if nothing were wrong. She smiled to herself as she watched him recoil in fear from the sight of it. So she had been right after all, Nick was a vampire. LaCroix had found it incredibly easy to get Pansy out of the Blue Whale for a little midnight ‘stroll’. His powers may have had something to do with it. He looked down at her as she hung on his arm and looked into his face with lovesick eyes that reflected the full moon hanging high in the night sky. She didn’t even notice when they hit the end of town and continued walking towards the edge of the woods surrounding Collinsport. He took her a little ways into the woods. He wanted to be sure that no one saw what went on between him and her. As they stopped he looked down at her and smiled. He leaned down and began to whisper sweet, insincere words in her ear. Slowly he pulled off her shall and tossed it on the damp forest ground. Pansy didn’t care; she only continued to stare into his eyes completely under LaCroix’s control. He playfully nibbled on Pansy’s ear as his hands worked their way to the buttons on the front of her dress. LaCroix unbuttoned the first two as she giggled like a schoolgirl with her first crush. He pulled the high collar away from her neck revealing the tender skin. Quentin had been walking for what seemed like ages. He was miserable and shivering from the cold wind that swept through the woods around him, his torn shirt offering no protection. As he continued to stumble through the forest he began to hear what seemed like a man’s voice. ‘Was he just imaging it?’ Quentin wondered silently. He turned slightly; walking in the direction the sound was coming from. As he got closer the woods became less thick allowing some moonlight to shine through. He could here the sound clearer now. Indeed it was a man’s voice and it sounded familiar… he just couldn’t quite place it. His eyes began to burn again, the same as they had when he was in his room. The fiery pain forced him to stop walking and close them for a minute. He groaned softly as the pain finally started to ease away. When Quentin opened his eyes again, he could see much more clearly in the dark night. He could hear a man’s voice and a woman’s light giggle. They seemed so much louder now. He started running in the direction the voices came from…. Quentin knew exactly where they were. Magda sat in the Old House drawing room polishing off her crystal ball. She had a feeling that something was wrong but she didn’t know what. She had seen nothing in the clear crystal and tried to shake it off but the feeling continued to stay with her. As much as people hated to admit it, her feelings were usually right. Magda pulled out her tarot cards. Perhaps they would tell her something… give her some hint as to why she had this terrible feeling. She sat down at the old desk that sat in the corner and began to lay them out in her favorite tarot formation. She was about to place the third card down when she felt like someone was watching her from the doorway. Magda looked up to find Jamison Collins standing there looking very worried. "Magda, have you seen my Uncle Quentin?" "What are ya doing here so late? Ya ain’t supposed to be wandering around in the middle of the night by yourself." "Have you seen him Magda!" Jamison continued desperately, ignoring Magda’s scolding.
"No I ain’t seen him. Why?" LaCroix seductively kissed Pansy’s neck, slowly working his way down to the most tantalizing spot. Pansy was completely hypnotized by him now as she stood silently letting him do whatever he wished. LaCroix moved himself away only slightly as his fangs descended, his mouth watering in anticipation. Slowly he bit into her neck and gently began to feed, fully intending to take every last drop of the sweet liquid from the bawdy show girl. He was interrupted by the sound of someone coming towards them in the woods. He reluctantly pulled his fangs from Pansy and looked up to see who dared to disturb his supper. In a stream of moonlight shinning down through the forest trees stood the tall figure of Quentin Collins; the light causing his form to look silvery-gray in color. His wolf-like eyes were the only things that stood out as they gleamed an unnatural shade of steel blue. Quentin lifted his head higher, smelling Pansy’s blood in the air. He smiled at LaCroix revealing long sharp, canine teeth. He wouldn’t let LaCroix have Pansy. He wouldn’t let him kill her. She was * his *. Chapter 19
LaCroix had never seen anything like the sight he saw before him now. Quentin let out a low guttural growl as he sized up LaCroix. LaCroix mustered up all his strength and let his eyes grow a demonic shade of red. He wasn’t going to be bullied by this… creature that was Quentin Collins. Quentin tipped his head to one side and smiled, flexing his fingers out straight. Only then did LaCroix notice the long, sharp, deadly nails dangling from each long finger as they caught the light. Without warning Quentin rushed toward LaCroix like lightning knocking Pansy out of his grasp and throwing her to the damp forest ground. LaCroix immediately reacted by grabbing hold of Quentin and shoving him into the nearest tree trunk but Quentin moved quickly and managed to spin himself around and miss the tree all together enraging LaCroix even further. He dove for Quentin’s neck and latched on tight. His fangs began to descend once again and he roughly grabbed hold of Quentin’s jaw forcing him to look into his ember red eyes. Quentin however didn’t look surprised or frightened at all, his eyes shimmering dangerously as they met LaCroix’s gaze and before he even realized it Quentin held his right hand up and slashed it across LaCroix’s face, his sharp dagger-like nails digging into his cheek. LaCroix immediately dropped his hold on Quentin and reached up to his face, which burned with an excruciating pain. He hadn’t felt anything like it in a good while and he didn’t like it one bit. He let out his own low primal growl as he charged at Quentin once again, losing all control of himself and using his full vampiric speed. He was in front of Quentin’s startled wolf eyes in a flash. His face still stung and LaCroix knew that it should have started to heal right away but the pain didn’t let up. He leaped onto Quentin knocking them both to the ground and they rolled across the damp forest earth clawing at each other like animals. Pansy began to scream as she finally snapped out of her hypnotic state. It pierced the night but not the thoughts of the two fighting at her feet. Both determined to kill the other before the night was out. Suddenly LaCroix felt a strong hand on his shoulder; the other hand on Quentin’s as they were pried roughly apart. The strength of all three men was not human but something much more. LaCroix looked up into the brown eyes of another of his kind. The man was about his height with very dark brown hair that came down in spikes on his forehead. He wore a long cloak and had a cane dangling from one forearm as he continued to hold the two away from each other, both of whom where struggle to break free. The man had a very hard time holding them both in place and in the end failed as their strength toppled his owns. Neither LaCroix nor Quentin went after each other however as fatigue hit them both like a ton of bricks. First, the man studied LaCroix. He knew he was a vampire, one vampire could always sense anther’s presence. They he looked over at Quentin and let out a small gasp. "Quentin!" the man said rather desperately. Evidently this wasn’t an every day scenario. Quentin looked back at the other vampire. He stood tall, his head tilted upward and one eyebrow arched. His eyes still where that of a wolf’s and his nails still long. "Quentin, my god what happened to you!" the man said again as he completely ignored LaCroix. From what LaCroix could tell he figured that these two must have been good acquaintances and that Quentin’s appearance was not normal. "Quentin!" the man pleaded one last time. Quentin looked up to the moon for a moment before he looked back at the other vampire. When their eyes locked he began to whisper, his voice was haunting and icy. Yet his tone was pure steel, smooth yet hard at the same time matching his wolf-like eyes.
"The moonlight shines down onto me When he stopped speaking the woods surrounding them became darker… more ominous. His voice seemed to leave a chill in the air and echo into the night. The other vampire whispered to himself the beginning of Quentin’s dark moonlight poem. "The moonlight shines down onto me… and when it does I do see –" He looked up suddenly towards the moon then back at Quentin. Quickly the other vampire grabbed hold of Quentin’s arm and half walked, half dragged him towards a dark clump of trees, LaCroix looked up and saw what the other vampire was thinking… the treetops would let no moonlight leak through them. Quentin struggled in the other vampire’s grasp as he pushed him into a dark thick underbrush and then followed. The large tree’s blocked out any image of the full moon. As soon as Quentin was out of the moon’s light he collapsed at the vampire’s feet, his eyes closed. The vampire kneeled next to Quentin and shook him lightly as he whispering his name. "Quentin? … Quentin?" Nothing. "Quentin!" he said again as he shook him harder. Quentin wouldn’t wake up. The vampire heard two people approaching to see what was going on but the vampire quickly intercepted. "Would you please leave him alone for a moment. He is not well." He stated simply as if nothing were wrong. "What the hell is he!" LaCroix nearly shouted. His rage evident as the side of his face still burned. He was sick of all of this; he wanted to get back to the present time. This strange vampire knew something and he wasn’t just going to just let it drop.
"I do not know what you mean. Who are you?" "I am Barnabas Collins. Are you a friend of the family? Does any of the Collins’ know that you are here?" "Yes as a matter of fact… that thing over there greeted me earlier this evening." LaCroix said coolly as he pointed to Quentin’s still form lying on the ground. "What is he? I’ve never seen anything like it." "To tell you the truth Mr. LaCroix I haven’t the slightest idea what happened myself. I, like you have never seen anything quite like it." "Well now, what’s this all about!" Pansy interrupted. "What’s happened to Quentin? Why is he lying on the ground like that?" "Pansy please –" Barnabas started, only to be interrupted by Quentin’s voice. They all turned towards Quentin immediately, startled by the sudden noise. He moaned as he shifted a little on the damp ground and then started to mumble, it was inaudible to human hearing. Even with Barnabas and LaCroix vampiric senses they couldn’t make out what he was saying. He still appeared to be unconscious and that worried Barnabas immensely. Julia paced the hall waiting for the doctors to exit Quentin’s room… to give her some news… anything! This waiting was making her jittery and being with a vampire stranger didn’t help matters any. She didn’t want to let on that she knew what he was, not yet anyway. But what was she going to do? He seemed civil enough… perhaps he was like Barnabas was. Seeking a cure for his terrible curse. She looked over at him briefly and chuckled softly, ‘Yeah right’ she thought to herself as Nick gave her a curious and suspicious look. "Would you be a dear and get me a cup of coffee?" Julia asked Nick innocently. "There is a machine a couple halls down." She continued. Nick grudgingly nodded his head in agreement and set off to find the vending machine. He looked like he knew exactly what she was doing… getting rid of him. Once Nick was out of sight she went over to the hospital room’s door and knocked lightly. The door opened almost immediately and Julia was relieved to see that it was a man she knew well, Dr. Greg Peterson. He smiled and then stepped out into the hall with Julia. "I was just about to leave. What brings you here at this hour Julia?" "I think I may have known the patient you’ve been seeing to. How is he?"
The Doctor’s face seemed to pale slightly. "Well Julia, to be
completely honest he seems to be doing better than he was before." "Well isn’t that good?"
"Julia, when he was brought in here… well let me just say that
he should have been dead. Massive internal bleeding, fractured neck and a
broken back were his most serious injuries. That alone should have killed
him, whatever hit him – it hit him hard and fast. I haven’t done
anything really other than a few casts because … I don’t really think
that I am needed." "Well Julia..." He cleared his throat and looked up and down the hall making sure the coast was clear. "He seems to be healing himself." Julia raised her eyebrows in surprise, however she suspected that if Quentin had lived this long he must have something supernatural going for him. "May I see him Greg?" "Sure. But don’t stay to long." he said as he turned and walked away, quickly vanishing around the corner. Julia stepped into the room, walking slowly over to the side of the bed. She nearly fainted when she saw the man’s face. It was Quentin Collins. The man she had come to know well when she traveled back in time to the year 1897. She sat down on the side of his bed and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. His face was terribly pale and his body was covered in bandages and casts. But he hadn’t aged a bit; he still looked like a young man of 27. Not the old 100+ man that he really was. Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak, her second attempt better than the first. "My God… Quentin? Quentin, is it really you?" Barnabas, LaCroix and Pansy all watched Quentin intently. He had stopped mumbling and become still again. At least for the moment. Barnabas looked over at LaCroix and Pansy.
"Mr. LaCroix, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Trask back to
Collinwood?" "As soon as I can get him to wake I will bring him back to Collinwood, we can talk there. I think you should get that wound attended to Mr. LaCroix." "Very well." LaCroix said grudgingly as he wrapped his arm around Pansy’s waste and led her back to the large mansion. Barnabas watched them disappear into the night glad to have gotten rid of the two of them. He knew that LaCroix was a vampire and wouldn’t say anything about what he saw and he was pretty sure Pansy didn’t remember much about the evening. He knelt back down next to Quentin just as he began to speak still unconscious. "J-J-Julia? Julia? What … hap-happened? What … are you doin’ here?" Quentin said out loud. Barnabas immediately started. Julia? Was he talking about Julia Hoffman? ‘But he’s never met her before… I’ve never even mentioned her name…’ Barnabas thought to himself as he looked down at Quentin with confusion. Julia continued to squeeze his hand tightly as she studied him. He didn’t look good at all and she suspected that what Dr. Greg Peterson had told him was true. He should be dead. Quentin’s eyes fluttered open suddenly, startling Julia and causing her to drop his hand and move back a little. His crystal blue eyes looked over in her direction. As their eyes met his breathing quickened slightly and his eyebrows shot up. "J-J-Julia? Julia? What … hap-happened? What … are you doin’ here?" Quentin said, his voice raspy and barely audible. Julia smiled slightly and held his hand again. She couldn’t believe it. She had thought him long dead by now but here he was. Now there was no doubt, this was the man Barnabas and herself had tried to save from his deadly fate along with the lives of David Collins and Chris Jennings back in the year 1969. This was indeed the Quentin Collins she had known while in the past… in the year 1897. Chapter 20 "Quentin… it is you! I thought you had died a long time ago!" Julia said to him as she held Quentin’s hand tightly. Quentin’s eyebrows rushed together. Died… yes he had died but he wasn’t dead. "Died…" Quentin whispered quietly. Julia nodded thinking he was talking to her. Quentin’s thoughts were swimming in confusion. Everything was unclear and fuzzy to him. He shut his eyes tightly trying to will the blurry image of Julia standing next to him to come into focus. "Quentin, are you all right?" Julia asked in concern. Her voice was just a whisper now. ‘Why is she whispering?’ thought Quentin who was already disoriented and confused by his surroundings. He opened his eyes and looked at her, about to voice his silent question. But Julia wasn’t standing there anymore. Barnabas was. "What? Where’s Julia, Barnabas?" Quentin asked, his voice hoarse. "Quentin! You’re awake, thank god!" Barnabas said relieved as he rushed to Quentin’s side. "Julia! She was standing right next to me Barnabas, where did she go?" "Quentin, what on earth are you talking about? I’m the only one who’s been standing next to you." "No!" Quentin said harshly as he tried to get up. Between Barnabas pushing him back down and the dizziness he felt the attempt was useless. "Barnabas – please stop pushing me." "Quentin, you’ve been out for a half an hour. Do you remember what happened tonight?" Quentin looked up into Barnabas’ confused face. He knew though that however confused Barnabas’ face appeared his must have looked ten times worse. He took a couple deep and shaky breaths as he tried to calm himself down. He had to think clearly, he couldn’t allow himself to panic. With each breath he took he felt a little calmer and his memories started to return once more. Julia was beginning to really worry. Quentin had looked all right a moment ago. Then suddenly he had fainted without warning. She reached down and shook him gently trying to rouse him from his slumber. There was no response. "Quentin…. Quentin, please wake up!" She whispered to him in his ear. Nothing. She sat down in a chair next to the bed not knowing what to do. Ordinarily she would call a doctor but Quentin seemed to be healing himself, what good would a doctor do? The sound of Quentin’s voice broke into her thoughts. His words just barely audible as she got up and leaned close to him attempting to hear what he was saying. "No… B-Barnabas, please stop pushing me." Julia’s breath caught in her throat. Was he dreaming that he was talking to his cousin? Or… was he really talking to him? No… he can’t be talking to Barnabas, he can’t be! Stop torturing yourself Julia! "Quentin…" she called again lightly hoping, praying for a response. "Barnabas… I remember now! I was standing outside the Collinsport Inn thinking when I heard a loud ripping sound above me. Yes! The branch – it – it fell. I was looking out the window… no, no that’s not right. I wasn’t doing that. Where? Oh I—" "Quentin, calm down your not making any sense. Now just try-" "… It wasn’t me but it was me. No… No, it was the ghost looking out the window not me." Quentin continued rambling to himself, ignoring Barnabas completely. "He wanted me to die. It was my time to die and he made it come true!" Quentin said as his voice steadily increased in volume. He forced Barnabas to let him up and began to pace back and forth in the darkened section of the Collinsport woods. Dead leaves crunching with every step he took. "Who is he Quentin? What are you talking about? What happened to you tonight?" "He… he… he is me, but not really. He only looks like me. I’m the only one who knows who he really is. That’s why he had to get rid of me… but he hasn’t. No, no, no…. He hasn’t. Not yet but he will try again, I have to be ready. I-" "Quentin…" Julia’s voice said softly in his ear interrupting his ramblings. He turned to the right expecting to see her standing next to him. No one was there. "What’s the matter Quentin?" Barnabas asked as his eyebrows rushed together in concern. He didn’t like the way Quentin was acting at all… he seemed to be losing his mind. "Julia… Julia where are you?" Quentin shouted confused and desperate. "Julia… Julia where are you?" Quentin finally whispered back. Julia called his name again and his eyes snapped open. "Thank god, Quentin!" He turned his head and didn’t say anything at first but as his eyes seemed to adjust he started to smile back at her. "Julia… I’m so glad I’m back. There is so much that I have to tell you." "Just relax for now Que-" "No! I don’t know how much time I have, I have to tell you now." "Quentin, you’re going to be fine. You’ll see…" her voice dropped down to a whisper. "…You’re healing yourself you know." "Yes, but-" "Now no buts. I’ll give you a sedative to relax you." Julia said, Quentin’s eyes filling with fear. "Julia, please… don’t. If you do that it may send me back. I can’t be sent back to my past again!" he said as he grasped Julia’s arm desperately. The look in his eyes stopped Julia immediately. She had never seen such fear in him before, as much as she wanted to give him a sedative she decided not to. He was so frightened that it may have a bad effect. Julia sighed and reluctantly agreed. 3 days later Nick entered his room at the Inn having just returned from the hospital. It was good news today, Quentin would be coming home tomorrow morning after having made a ‘miraculous’ recovery. Nick had picked up his mail down in the lobby and found Merlin’s envelope with information and pictures of Quentin Collins. It was only supposed to take a day but arrived late, Nick thought it wasn’t even going to arrive at all. Sitting down on the edge of his bed he opened up the envelope and looked over the contents carefully. Quentin was just tying his tie when Julia walked in and smiled at him brightly. On his last visit Nick had brought him some of his clothes from the Inn since he was leaving the hospital today. Quentin seemed to have made a quick and full recovery and Julia was happy for it. She was a little worried though because he didn’t seem to talk much, he was very quiet and seemed to be closed off to her… a bit removed and that was very unlike him. Quentin was usually very talkative and open. "How are you feeling Quentin dear?" Quentin looked over and smiled. "Much better, as good as new." It was almost true, he felt fine except for a small headache that didn’t seem to want to go away. "Good!" Quentin turned back to the mirror as he finished the final knot of his tie. His hands froze and his mouth dropped in shock. There it was again. TAINTED – spelled out backwards in the mirror. The writing was blood red. "What’s the matter?" Julia asked as she glanced in the mirror briefly. Quentin looked at her with wide eyes and then back at the mirror. She didn’t seem to see it. He laughed nervously. "Oh nothing. Just a trick of the light I guess." At Julia’s skeptical look he continued. "Really Julia, everything’s OK. It’s nothing. Now… let’s get outta here!" He replied as he jokingly slipped into a southern accent. Julia thought that it seemed rather natural for him. She nodded and walked out the door. Quentin followed her as he took one last glance in the hospital mirror and shuddered slightly. He had lied to Julia. He still saw the haunting and familiar writing taunting him in the mirror. |
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