 |
Haunting Memories |
|
Part 3 Chapter 21Nick had gone through everything in the small manila envelope at least three times. Everything Merlin sent had been very enlightening. Nick didn’t need any more proof… this man was over 100 years old. There was no doubt of that now. Even worse he must have known more than he was telling which meant he might be putting LaCroix’s ‘life’ in danger. Nick knew there was no choice but to confront Quentin about all he had learned. He could only hope that Quentin would be honest with him… and that he isn’t dangerous to an 800+ year old vampire. * Quentin sighed and walked over to the window. Dusk was beginning to fall once again; his entire day spent trying to get rid of Julia. He loved Julia… but had wanted to be alone, especially after having all those doctors hovering over him like bees on honey for the past few days. Julia kept asking question after question, none of which he wanted to answer at the time. With each of her words his head would start to hurt more and more… like the increasingly loud thunder a storm will bring as it moves closer to you. He looked up at the rising moon which was graciously only half of it’s full circle. "I’m not going to just sit here and wait for evening." Quentin turned from the window in a flash, looking for the source of the woman’s voice. It couldn’t have been her… He felt a wave of dizziness suddenly and he closed his eyes for a moment and steadied himself with the windowsill that sat next to him. When his eyes opened once again they were not those of the present but of the past. "Oh no don’t. Do something… DO SOMETHING!" he said wryly as he slipped back to his old, 1897 self. "I’m GOING to!" "You be careful. Don’t make it worse." "How could I?" "Oh, easily." "Quentin? Who the hell are you talking to?" Nick interrupted. He had just walking into Quentin’s room at the Inn and overheard him talking to an invisible companion, at least invisible to him. Quentin staggered for a moment and then looked up towards Nick, this time with recognition and not shock. "Quentin… are you still ill?" "No… I – I’m just tired that’s all. If you’ll let me rest a little I’m sure-" "Quentin, I might as well get to the point. I think we need to be honest with each other if we’re going to work together, don’t you?" Nick started; he was tired of playing games. "What are you getting at?" "I’ve had a full background check done on you. There is no Quentin Collins in the present… but there is a Quentin Collins born in 1870. That’s you… isn’t it? ISN’T IT!" Quentin looked up at him again; his eyebrow arched high with a wicked smirk to match. "Oh please, do I look like I’m over 130 years old to you?" "You know as well as I do that you don’t have to look your age." "I don’t know what your talking about, Nick. What are you going to do anyway, go screaming to the world that I’m past my prime?" Nick shook his head in frustration, he had a feeling that Quentin wouldn’t admit all this easily and now he could see that he was right. "Quentin, I don’t intend to tell anyone but I do have proof. Proof that may not stand up to other people but is enough for me." "Just what sort of proof are you talking about?" Quentin asked as annoyance laced his voice. "First, I had a full background check on you. You don’t exist – your parents are complete fiction. Second, you were crushed by a branch that should have killed you, would have killed any normal man. Third, you were pronounced dead… then all of a sudden you make a miraculous return to life and an even more miraculous recovery. Fourth… is this picture." Nick said as he dug around in his coat pocket, presenting and old black and white photograph wrinkled around the edges and tinted yellow with age. Nick held the photo in front of Quentin’s face, forcing him to look at it. Quentin shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Remarkable resemblance don’t you say?" Nick replied. Quentin put his hand on top of the photograph and slowly pushed down, forcing Nick to lower it out of his face. Smiling Quentin took a couple steps around the room and then turned towards him again. "There is just one thing you are forgetting Nick, if I am the original Quentin Collins then WHO is the ghost haunting the halls of Collinwood… and us?" "That is the one thing that I haven’t figured out Quentin…. But I think that you have." Nick said forcefully, he wouldn’t be swayed or discouraged by Quentin’s reaction to his accusations. But Nick had a surprise coming to him. "You’re so very sure of yourself aren’t you Nick? You put 2 and 2 together and you came up with 5. You jumped to some rather strong conclusions. I’m not surprised that you would be the one to do it though." Quentin’s smile widened and his eyes shimmered with excitement. "How very right you are Nick. Yes, I am the original Quentin Collins. I was born on October 28, 1870." Nick was taken aback for a moment by Quentin’s sudden admission but only for a moment. "What are you?" "You mean you haven’t figured that out for yourself?" Quentin faked mock horror. "You disappoint me so, I thought you would have figured it out long ago since I am so transparent." "No, you’re not that." "Thank you. As for your question… I’m many things Nick. When one has been as many things as I one begins to lose track. But then again, I am not the only one in this room with a supernatural secret now am I Nick?" Nick became defensive immediately. "What do you mean?" "Well, well. Wonder of wonders, positions have reversed themselves and now it’s my turn to spend a half an hour to drag the truth out of YOU." Quentin laughed. "Please, spare me the denials. I know that you are a vampire… I’ve known almost all along." Nick knew that he had wanted to be honest about Quentin… but he wasn’t really ready to be honest about himself. He never expected for Quentin to already know about his secret. Either way he figured he had better just tell the truth. "How did you find out?" "You’re not the only one who can put two and two together. I suspect that I can trust you to keep my secret…" Quentin said as his voice hit a serious note before continuing. "…and you can trust me to keep yours. I have no desire to reveal your secret Nick. Besides, you have more proof that I am supernatural than I do you." "Then you don’t loath what I am… you’re not frightened?" asked Nick doubtfully. "I’ll tell you what I told another long ago. I am never without fear, Nick. But who am I to judge you? I have done and been many things and very few of them are good. You cannot help what you are anymore than I can help what I am. We didn’t choose our destiny, it was already chosen." Nick shook his head and smiled slightly. It seemed that Quentin was completely comfortable alone in a room with a vampire. Like it was totally normal and happened every night. "Can I trust you Nick?" "Yes Quentin. You can trust me, I’m glad we finally laid all our cards out on the table." "It was about time if you ask me! You know what worries me the most though Nick? It’s the fear that neither of us have been dealt the winning hand." Chapter 22 Falling. He was falling back and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Faster and faster he fell as he gained deadly speed with each foot he dropped. Falling into nothing and everything. Why can’t I stop it? He thought wildly but deep down he knew why, because the dark precipice he found himself in was endless, like a black hole. After what seemed to be an eternity he felt himself make impact with the ground but it was surreal, he really didn’t feel himself hit the ground but could feel the solid floor below his feet. He saw nothing at first but slowly a room appeared around him. It was his room. His old room in the West Wing of Collinwood, the first thing to catch his attention was his hand painted red gramophone as it stood catching the rays of light that spilled through his window. The gramophone had been his mother’s as was the record that always played on it. He was so young when she died that this was the only thing he had to remember her by, the only thing that made him feel as if he was near her. A bittersweet smile played out on his lips as he thought about her. He had seen pictures of her; she used to be a very lovely and beautiful woman. He walked over to it and ran his hand down the smooth red horn, then reached over and turned it on. The strings of a sweet, melancholy waltz filled his room. It had been so long since he heard his waltz play. So very long. "I’ve always wanted to go to Vienna… and wear a beautiful silk gown." A woman’s voice said dreamily, making Quentin jump nearly a foot high. He hadn’t been alone in the room at all; she had been standing silently behind him the entire time. He faced her, his expression pained. He remembered the first time she had uttered those words, so cruel he had been to her. He regretted that now. He had pushed her away and pretended he didn’t care but she was really the only woman he ever truly loved and the only woman who ever truly loved him. "And Waltz… and WALTZ all night long!" she continued as she danced gracefully around the room, dreaming of something that he knew would never happen. She was the only woman who knew almost every dirty secret he had, knew everything about him and could still love him, regardless of it all. "Yes Beth, I would like that." She looked over at him suddenly, caught off guard. She wasn’t used to him agreeing with her little fantasy’s of them being together. "We will waltz into the night… waltz forever until there is nothing else." He continued. Beth’s eyes lit up by his show of optimism and hope. He swept her into his arms and they began to dance to the waltz together as they held each other tightly, afraid to let go. Quentin knew that this would never last but he would enjoy every minute of it until it had to come to an end. "Yes Beth" He whispered into her ear. "We will waltz forever until the whole world vanishes… and only the two of us remain." He looked into her eyes and saw that she was crying. Now was the time to tell her what he never had a chance to tell her the first time. As the last strings of the waltz filled the room they slowed their lovers waltz to a stop. They both looked deep into each other’s eyes as silence filled the air, neither one speaking in fear of spoiling the moment. Finally Quentin broke the silence with words he was almost afraid to speak. "Beth, I love you." She let out a small cry as the floodgates opened. There was no stopping the tears that spilled down her cheeks, but for once they were tears of joy and not sorrow. Guilt washed over Quentin as he looked into her happy features, he shouldn’t have given her hope when he knew there was none. They could never be together, he would return and she would be left with his old self once again. But then perhaps it was better to live with a glimmer of hope then none at all. "You do know that I mean it Beth. Don’t you?" She sniffled and wiped some tear away from her eyes trying to compose herself. "Oh yes, I do Quentin. I’ve never heard you say anything to me before with such meaning. I don’t know if I would have before… but I do now, I do now. I’ve always loved you Quentin and I always will." They kissed long and passionately, both desperate for this night not to end. "Play the waltz again Quentin… please, play it over and over. I never want it to stop." Quentin smiled at her. "My dear, I always play it over and over… besides Edward may begin to wonder if we play it 400 times." He teased. She playfully shoved him towards the gramophone and laughed softly. "Since when did you care what Edward thought!" Quentin laughed with her, "Good point." He started the music over and embraced her again. Then the pain hit…. ‘Oh no, how could I have forgotten!’ Quentin thought frantically, gripping Beth a little tighter as the next wave of pain hit. A frighteningly familiar man’s laughter echoed in his ears as his body was filled with a horrible pain, spreading like fire. "Beth… get out… now!" "Oh Quentin! We forgot about the moon… I’m – I’m sorry!" "Don’t be… sorry Beth. Please, please get out. Get… to somewhere safe!" Quentin fell to the floor and moaned in pain as Beth reluctantly ran out of the room, tears blinding her eyes. All the while the haunting waltz continued to play but no matter how long or how many times it did so even it’s melody couldn’t bring salvation or comfort on this night, when the moon is full. A last burst of sharp pain hit Quentin, starting in the pit of his stomach and spreading all the way up and down his body. Just when he thought he could take no more, it stopped as it always did just before he blacked-out and saw no more until the next coming dawn, the waltz echoed in his mind until the last possible moment. Blackness. Quentin shot bolt up right. He felt physically drained as he tried to get up but something was holding him down. He became even more frantic; not thinking clearly Quentin tried to kick off what was pinning his legs down. Brambles, he was tangled up in the thick brambles in the woods around Collinsport. Breathing hard he tried to tear them away, he had to get out of them, he couldn’t be found out! He kept tugging frantically at the brambles… No, no they weren’t brambles. He wasn’t in the Collinsport woods. He was lying in his bed and was tangled, caught in the sheets that were draped over him. He let out a low, frustrated moan as he got his bearing’s down. Why did he think he was in the woods? Why was he acting like this? Was something wrong with him? More calm now he untangled himself from the sheets that had scared him so much only a moment before. He remembered his dream about Beth… and then the transformation. The man’s laughter. That’s why he had thought he was in the woods, he had remembered… dreamed something from his past. Only the dream was altered slightly. Did he just dream the whole thing… or had he slipped back into the past again? Did he dream it or was he really there? He didn’t know, he didn’t know anything anymore. He was flooded by random thoughts. He missed Beth, wondered who was laughing at him – the voice was so familiar yet he couldn’t quite place it. Why did he keep getting sucked into the past? He was healed now; there was no reason for it. Or was there? He shook his head in confusion, trying to force the thoughts and images out of him mind. He could swear that he still heard the waltz playing in his mind. ‘Stop it, Stop it!’ Quentin’s mind screamed as the hotel room started to blur, but the music wouldn’t stop. It just kept on and on and Quentin was sure that he was losing his mind. "Shadows of the night, Falling Silently, Echo of the Past…." A voice whispered in his ear… not just any voice, HIS voice. It sounded like it was coming from right next to him but no one was there. Quentin let out a cry and jumped out of the bed starting towards the door of his hotel room. He had to get out of here before he lost it. He past the small table in his room and reached for the doorknob, breathing hard. He stopped. Slowly he turned around to the small table. ‘No, no, no. I’m imagining it… I must be imagining it.’ Quentin thought desperately. There it was, sitting on the table looking exactly as it did in 1897. His treasured red gramophone with delicate white flowers painted inside it’s horn. It was softly playing "Quentin’s Theme"…. Chapter 23 Quentin stood stone still as his favorite melody filled the room, each string echoed inside the rooms four small walls. Louder and louder the music became until it seemed that the music wasn’t playing at all anymore - only noise, a horrible and incessant noise. "Stop it! Please, please stop it!" Quentin yelled out loud. He ran to the door and grasped the knob, pulling with all his strength. It wouldn’t open. He pulled harder as the music continued to thunder in his ears – no, it wasn’t music any longer. It was laughter. It had transformed into a man’s laughter. Quentin’s heart jump into his throat as he panicked. He began to pound on the door, frantic. Frantic to escape. "Please, somebody help me! Can’t you hear?!? Open the door… anybody!" Quentin screamed as he continued to struggled with the door. Why wasn’t anyone answering? Couldn’t they hear him yelling? It was a small Inn after all. Where was Nick? Why couldn’t he hear him when Nick was staying right next door? Why couldn’t anyone hear him? "Help me… PLEASE" He cried desperately. His attempts seemed to be futile however; he could hear no one coming to his aid from the other side of the door. "How does it feel Quentin?" Quentin whipped around; his back pressed against the door. The voice… it was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. It was a voice he would never forget. Quentin let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. This has to be a dream, his mind said. It’s a dream, a dream, only a dream. A dream, a dream, a dream Quentin’s mind began to chant. But it didn’t matter how many times his mind shouted it…. It wasn’t a dream. And Quentin knew it. "How does it feel Quentin to be trapped inside a room with no escape? How does it feel to be in a place where no one can hear you scream?" Quentin opened his eyes again. Anger taking place of fear. This man had ruined his life; he did what he had to do. He remembered all the things this evil creature had done and tried to do to him and his family. "Why don’t you come out and show yourself! I know who you are!" Quentin said maliciously. Nothing happened. No one appeared. No voice or laughter. "Or are you to much of a coward?" Quentin continued knowing that it would piss him off. No one called HIM a coward. It worked. The air around him grew cold almost instantly. Slowly a form began to take shape and a face appeared… but it wasn’t the face he was expecting. Instead, a perfect mirror image of himself appeared before him. "Sort of like seeing yourself step right out of a mirror isn’t it Quentin, my boy." "Petofi" Quentin spat, his hatred rising. "Why don’t you get out of my body you perverted freak." Petofi stared back at Quentin. Quentin couldn’t believe that after all these years Count Petofi still had this sick obsession to possess his very being. Even in death he couldn’t let it go. Yes, Count Andreas Petofi had many powers in life and still had many powers… even in death it seemed. "Why are you haunting me Petofi? After all these years what could you possibly want?" "I thought you would have figured it out by now dear boy. I guess you haven’t gotten any wiser in your old age after all. How disappointing." Petofi said in his calm demeanor as he tisk-tisked Quentin like a child. Quentin hated that and Petofi knew it. Pulling himself together Quentin raised his head high, arched an eyebrow and gave Petofi a look that could melt steel. Still in Quentin’s body, Count Petofi chuckled evilly. Quentin had noticed that he seemed to give a high pitched giggle rather than laugh, if the man wasn’t a down right monster he might of even found it funny. "Don’t you remember your last night at Collinwood Quentin? I don’t appreciate what you did to me." "I don’t appreciate what you did to me either Petofi!" "I was going to save you." "Save me for what!" Quentin laughed. "For your OWN evil purposes, you wanted my body so that you could go to the future!" "True." Quentin threw up his hands, exasperated. He had had enough; patience was never his best virtue. He looked over at his gramophone briefly, noting that the music had stopped. "Petofi – why in gods name are you here?" "Why… I want your life dear boy." He said cruelly as his figure began to morph into his true body, the real Count Petofi emerging. He had used Quentin’s body as a disguise. Like a chameleon changed its color he seemed to be able to change his spirits appearance. He had made everyone think that it was Quentin Collins who was doing all the destruction at Collinwood – that it was Quentin Collins who was truly evil. "Do you remember the night Quentin? The night you were meant to die – September 11th, 1897?" Petofi said, pausing and waiting for Quentin’s answer. "Of course, it’s not something one is likely to forget Petofi." "You changed history dear boy by forcing me to take your place. Dangerous thing to mess with time. Although I must admit you were quite clever my boy – locking me in your room in the West Wing. Sealing me inside, making it my tomb indefinitely. But you see, that’s what made me think of using your image as a disguise until I…. Until I could seek my revenge that is. I knew eventually someone would open that locked room, it was only a matter of time." Quentin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I uh, don’t suppose it would help to say ‘I’m sorry’ at this point would it?" "You wouldn’t mean it anyway Quentin." Quentin couldn’t help but smile. "How’d you guess that? Petofi, will you stop playing games with me and come to the point?" "You have no patience my boy. Very well, tell me… what is the date today Quentin?" Quentin thought for a long moment. He didn’t know, he had been unconscious and in the hospital. When he got out he didn’t really think about the days date. He couldn’t remember whether Julia or Nick had mentioned it to him or not. Most likely they did and he wasn’t listening. Quentin sighed softly. "I – I don’t know what the date is." Petofi gave a brief smile as he pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall above Quentin’s hotel room desk. From across the room he could see a date was circled in red marker. As he slowly approached the calendar the date came into focus. He inhaled sharply and then looked over at the clock on the nightstand. The glowing green numbers shined 1:45am. He glanced at the calendar and then back at Petofi as it all started to sink in. Today was September 10th . Chapter 24 September 10th The date had always sent a chill up his spine and with good reason. It was the day he was meant to die. The day he was supposed to die. He had cheated death… but now Quentin wondered if death didn’t have a few tricks of his own hidden up his long black sleeve. Quentin turned back around and faced Petofi, he was afraid but wasn’t going to show it. Fear is what fed Petofi’s sick and twisted mind. "What are you going to do?" He asked, doing the best he could to keep the anxiety he felt out of his voice. Petofi smiled like a piranha about to bite into his next meal. "You’ll see soon enough dear boy. I don’t want to spoil things; I know how you love surprises. However I will tell you this. Enjoy your last few hours Quentin, your last few precious hours." Quentin shivered involuntarily as he watched Petofi fade away and leave him alone in the hotel room once again. He went over to the bed and sank into the mattress as he thought of what to do. The Collins family was gone now… to what destination he didn’t know. He was hoping to discover that one-day along with the whereabouts of his cursed kindred cousin, Barnabas Collins. Julia couldn’t do much anymore, oh she was sharp, smart and alert as always. She could be very useful in helping Nick and himself rid Collinwood of the Ghost of Count Petofi but they simply didn’t have enough time if Petofi was planning what he thought. It would be just like Petofi to want Quentin to not only die on the same day as he was supposed to… but the same time as well. There was one good thing about that; it would give Quentin all day to formulate some sort of plan, he originally was to die at 11:45pm and that was most likely the time Petofi would make his move. What Quentin didn’t understand was how Petofi planned to do it. His portrait was safely tucked away in a place he was sure Petofi couldn’t get it and he had already tried to kill Quentin the night of the full moon when the branch nearly crushed him to death. He hadn’t succeeded then… but was he really trying or had he just wanted Quentin to suffer a little before making the final blows? No doubt he had some plan that would nix the protective effects the portrait had over him. He didn’t see anyway possible for Petofi to actually do it but if there was one thing he had learned back in 1897 it was not to underestimate an enemy, especially one as dangerous and powerful as Count Andreas Petofi. Quentin sighed heavily. He knew what he needed to do… he just wasn’t so sure he should do it. * Nick flipped through channel after channel finding absolutely nothing of interest to him. Of course the Collinsport Inn only offered 9 channels. That could have been the reason. To make matters worse he didn’t feel like lying around, his instincts told him to go and figure out this whole ghostly mystery. To find and bring LaCroix back to where they both came from. He also knew that instincts could lead him into trouble and this time they probably would. Nick really had no clue who or what he was dealing with, Julia Hoffman didn’t seem to know either from what he had observed. Ever since Quentin had gained consciences she was secretly trying to probe information out of him. It didn’t work though; Nick had the feeling that Quentin knew her well enough to know what she was doing. No, only one person could help solve this mystery and that was Quentin Collins… and he might have already solved it himself. * Quentin got up from the bed, went over to the mirror in the bathroom and fixed himself up. He had decided what he needed to do. What he HAD to do. He was going to have to get Nick and Julia together and explain to them what he was planning. That wasn’t the tricky part though, the tricky part was getting them to actually be a part of it. After making his phone call to Julia, Quentin picked up the sport coat he had draped over the sofa and began to put it on as he made his way to the door. As soon as his hand touched the knob music began to fill the room. Quentin turned around and immediately spotted the source of the music. It was coming from his gramophone. But it wasn’t his theme, "Shadows of the Night" whose record forever had a home on his gramophone. No, It was Mozart. Mozart just happened to be Count Petofi’s favorite artist in 1897. Quentin slowly closed his eyes as he began to get dizzy. Count Petofi was no idiot; he was making the first move and Quentin hadn’t even had a chance to put on his coat. "What song is that… it sounds so familiar." Quentin whispered to himself, his voice like a child. Putting a hand to his temple he grasped the doorknob tighter to keep his balance. The song shouldn’t sound familiar, he thought to himself. He had never liked, nor listened to Mozart before. Still, the song tugged at his brain like it was playing tug-a-war with his memories. Fantasy and Fugue in F Minor The name of the song donned on Quentin just as his senses became numb and he crumpled to the floor. * Nick opened the door to his hotel room and was shocked to discover Ms. Julia Hoffman. "Well, I certainly didn’t expect you. What are you doing here Julia?" Julia narrowed her eyes, "You mean Quentin isn’t here yet? He called me and told me to meet him here. He said there was something important he had to tell us." "No – I haven’t seen or heard from Quentin tonight." Julia quickly walked into Nick’s room and shut the door. "Quentin should have talked to you by now, he called me nearly a half hour ago. I better call his room and make sure he’s all right." Julia looked worried and that worried Nick. She didn’t seem like the type to panic over nothing. "Do you know what Quentin is planning to tell us?" "Not exactly, but I’m positive it has something to do with this whole mess we are in. And further more, if he was planning on telling us who or what the ghost is… that is if he had found out – Well his safety and maybe even his life would be in terrible danger." Julia picked up the phone and asked for Quentin’s room, it seemed silly to call when it was right next door but if something had happened to Quentin then both her and Nick could walk straight into the ghosts’ trap. Ring…… Ring…… Ring…… Julia’s brow furrowed and her face frowned deeper with each piercing ring. Ring…… Ring…… Julia hung up and turned back towards Nick. "No answer." "Well of course there was no answer my dear doctor." Nick and Julia jumped, startled by the voice behind them. "Quentin! We didn’t hear you come in, oh… thank goodness you are here! We were very worried about you." Julia told him as she sighed, relieved and happy to see that he was OK. Quentin cocked an eyebrow as he swaggered over to the two of them. "Well, Well. Isn’t that just so touching." He said icily. Confused by his tone Julia took a step back from him. "You- You know how much we care about you Quentin." Quentin’s mouth formed into a crooked and malicious grin and he began to chuckle. It was deep and throaty and sounded nothing like Quentin. "Oh yes… I know you care a great deal for me." Quentin replied to Julia in a mocking tone. Julia took in Quentin again, looking at him as if for the first time. Something was terribly wrong with him… that much was for certain. His tone and manner was completely different than it was earlier today when she had talked with him. Quentin wouldn’t speak to her this way… no, she was sure of that. Then she looked into his eyes and for the first time ever Quentin truly frightened her. An involuntary chill ran down her spine. His eyes weren’t the clear sky blue she had always remembered. They were dark and cold – as if a thunderstorm was brewing inside them. "I was thinking" Quentin continued as if nothing were wrong. "We should go back into Collinwood, I was wrong to make us stay away. I mean after all we aren’t going to find your companion LaCroix, Nick if we don’t return there soon… and the rest of the Collins family! We must return so that you are able to find out what truly happened to them." His wording did not slip past Julia’s ear… "so that YOU are able to find out…". "You didn’t think it was a good idea yesterday Quentin. I thought you had made a good point." Nick said, his voice didn’t attempt to hide the suspicion he felt towards Quentin’s sudden attitude change. Quentin gave Nick a chilling smile before he replied. "Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly, my boy." |
|