Title: Changes
Author: Anyanka
Disclaimer: Passions, obviously, doesn't belong to me. If it did, this story would be the show. I do own Cassandra and Laura, for what it's worth. This is my first fan fiction, so please R & R, and let me know how I'm doing.
Rating: PG-13, to be on the safe side.
Settings/Spoilers: Everything on and before the 08/02/02 episode actually happened; everything after is MY version (mwahaha). I may incorporate bits of later canon here and there, but for the most part the current storyline is not happening.
A/N: This is not so much a typical story focusing on a few characters as my version of the entire show, incorporating all of the characters and their storylines. This fanfic is dedicated to the memory of Josh Ryan Evans, whose tragic death on August 5 deprived "Passions" of its most delightful character, Timmy. As I began the story before his passing, I plan to keep Timmy an integral part of my story as originally planned. Hopefully, I'll soon have time to write a story concerning poor Tabby coming to terms with his death. For now, this story stands as wishful thinking for his fans.
Alistair Crane sighed, exasperated, as he closed the door to the private study he was temporarily occupying at the Crane mansion. What a night! Theresa's "resurrection" had come off after all. Oh sure, there had been Theresa's inclination to rise up out of her coffin and cause havoc, and his idiot son had managed to set the wax doll on fire, precipitating the need to reveal the girl's true state before he had wished to, but considering the convoluted nature of his plan, Alistair could not help but feel satisfied with the results.
Julian was back, but more importantly, he now had Ivy and Rebecca right where he wanted them. They were totally at his mercy, and would have no choice but to do just as he ordered, thus rendering them the essential tools he needed for the next phase of the master plan.
The plan. Those pesky Lopez-Fitzgeralds would never know what hit them—and Crane interests would of course be well served. He must admit, though, that he had begun to possess a grudging yet growing admiration for young Theresa. He had previously written her off as a typical silly youthful female, a bit more delusional than most, but her escapades that night had been nothing short of astonishing. Given the amount of drugs that she had received in the injections, she should not have been able to flutter her pretty eyelashes, let alone repeatedly get up out of her coffin and chase her persecutors! While her mixed heritage was a definite negative, she was in many ways the ideal mother for a Crane heir—tenacious, feisty, vindictive, and determined to get her way no matter what the means. While those qualities would have to be beaten out of Theresa, Alistair hoped that her child, the Crane heir apparent, would inherit some of her backbone, and not be the spineless, sniveling wreck that Julian had turned out to be.
Unfortunately, the night had also brought about the return of not only yet another Lopez-Fitzgerald, Antonio, to contend with, but also that of his supposedly permanently departed daughter, Sheridan! She had been blown up, for Christ's sake, and yet here she was, strolling into town as if she wasn't supposed to be scattered to the wind, her ashes fertilizing the soil. Apparently, that pesky brat of his had more lives than a cat. He'd of course have to get rid of her, as well as Antonio, but just how would he do this?
As he was contemplating a scheme to accomplish this new objective, he heard the click of the door as someone entered the room. Although the hairs on the back of his neck stood up instantly and he felt a distinct unease, Alistair gruffly yelled, "I made it quite clear that I was to be left completely undisturbed tonight!"
"I'm terribly sorry," replied a female voice impeccably polite in tone yet laced with a tangible air of gleeful malice, "but it's simply been too long since I've had a chat with you, Alistair, and I'm rather disappointed to find affairs in a dreadful state."
Alistair promptly dropped the cigar he had been holding, the dread and frustration he had not felt in nearly three decades rushing back instantly. No, God, it couldn't be, not now, it can't be HER…
Apprehensively, Alistair turned around, refusing to believe his ears. Facing him was a petite woman who appeared to be in her early twenties, with dark auburn hair and beautiful emerald eyes that would have been irresistible if they did not convey the look of a predator. Her complexion was smooth and flawless, though her skin was almost impossibly pale, making her blood red lips all the more compelling. She was smiling, her expression at first sweet but on second glance unsettling, as her teeth somehow seemed unnaturally sharp.
Alistair was stunned speechless for perhaps the first time in his life. He simply couldn't believe it. Cassandra Crane had returned to Harmony!