Chapter 11

Quentin drank another brandy. Too early in the day to get drunk. It was always too early in the day to get drunk... but then the sooner he got drunk, the easier the rest of the day would be,

Dear wife Carolyn. Dear Uncle Roger. Dear son Edmund... dear family, which he wished could get lost at a moment's notice.

And dear Carl.

Why did Carl have to come after him? Why not go after Barnabas? After all, Barnabas had been the one who did the killing.

Would Carl forgive him if...?

Barnabas had been the killer. He had only been the betrayer. If he now betrayed Barnabas and killed him, would Carl be content and let him escape Collinwood?

Sandy Miller was in his office, emanating hostility from every pore.

"I have come to claim my children "she said "and no one should keep me away from them."

"I understand and sympathize. I myself have recommended it. There is this idiot in charge of things and I can't move him."

"You don't think I should have them?" she said, not having listened to him.

"I think that you should."

"You think that since I abandoned them to go with Chris I should not have them."

"I understand that it was your husband who forced you to leave before you ever considered Chris in that light."

"You wanted me to go with Chris."

"I didn't"

"Don't lie, you did."

George sighed. Whatever he said, Sandy was not willing to listen. She felt guilty about leaving her children. It was not even the delay in being officially declared the legal guardian of her children (although the guy in charge would improve his efficiency if kicked in the ass hard enough). It was her desire to get rid of guilt by any means.

"I will try to speed up the paperwork" he said wearily.

Angelique concentrated, her hands on Sebastian's temples. Sebastian held the Peggy Green, his eyes closed, letting the impressions flow into him, but then into Angelique without entering his consciousness. She waned him protected from all the negative emotions and energy flowing out of the ship. And she directed those thoughts and consciousness to a blank slate of paper which began writing itself. Who laid this spell? Why was it laid? How can it be lifted? She made her concentrate on those points and no other. For she had to protect herself, as she was protecting Sebastian. A slave ship collected nothing but negative emotions and energy, and when it came out it could destroy anyone who stood to close to it.

Quentin had to take a few drinks to give himself courage for what he was about to do. In spite of the falling out of recent years he and Barnabas had been friends once.

But it meant freedom for him...

He would not hurt Barnabas. He would make it quick. He owed him that much.

He knew what he was about to do... but he had done worse, hadn't he? He had killed his wife, help murder his brother, seduced, lied, cheated. One more crime would not matter... And Barnabas was not human, anyway.

And he would be free.

It would not be murder but an execution...

Urien was on the beach, reading. He had seen him with that goofy smile that betrayed his amazement that he finally was able to make sense of the dark spots on the white paper.

So Urien was out. And while he had locked the door, the lock was not unpickable. Not for someone of his experience.

And indeed, it wasn't

He went in, found the coffin, and opened the lid.

"Sorry pal," he said "but better you than me."

He placed the stake on the chest. He felt the heart beat slowly, barely noticeable.

He would stop it. One blow and it would be over. He would have earned his freedom.

He lifted the mallet and prepared himself for the blow. He closed his eyes and struck.

Barnabas screamed.

Quentin opened his eyes, enough to see the blood stream out of Barnabas' mouth, from his nose and ears... he could not watch it anymore. He ran, not noticing the whimpering sound that Barnabas was making.

Julia studied Peter. The child was more relaxed now, but would not talk of what he had seen or experienced. Julia understood why he would not.

"Don't be afraid, Peter." she said soothingly "no one will hurt you."

Peter whimpered.

She stroked his forehead, and he jumped away "There is nothing to be afraid of. No one will hurt you. Your mother will not come here. Delia will not come here."

The shudder than ran through Peter at the mention of either of them made Julia shudder. She had seen quite a few cases of abused children and abusive parents. But up to now she could feel some sort of love between the parent and the child, no matter how it had become twisted. He doubted that there was any love between Peter and Violet. Their relationship, pathological already before they came to Collinsport, had deteriorated to the point where Violet could turn Peter to Delia to play games with.

She patted the boy's cheek. But the child was not being accustomed to such display of affections, she reminded herself again. For him, an affectionate gesture could, in the flicker of an eye, become another painful punishment.

She wondered if she could reach him. He seemed too far gone trust anyone, specially a woman.

Maybe she should turn him over to Barnabas, when he came back.

"It is all right, Peter." she repeated. I understand. You are a good boy.

Peter relaxed. A god boy. Those were the magic words. The ones that let him know that they were content and that there would be no more pain.

It was late when Urien came back. He knew it was, and felt a bit guilty about it, even if Barnabas had not set any time limits to his absence.

Barnabas would understand. He might even be pleased, since he had spent most of his time reading (even if he would not agree with his choice of reading material).

He decided to do his work as quickly as possible so that Barnabas would not notice he had been in late.

It was quite dark before he realized that Barnabas was not about.

Curious as to the reason for the delay, he opened the door behind the library and looked inside.

Barnabas laid in his coffin, covered with blood, a stake protruding from his chest.

Urien stared in horror. They had killed him... nausea filled him watching all that blood... Barnabas who had been so gentle and patient with him...

They had murdered him while he was at the beach.

He realized what would happen. They would think that he had done it. Brant would take revenge for his murdered lover... He did not want Brant to put the cuffs on him again...

He whimpered. He wept. Barnabas did not deserve to be killed like this.

He had to run away as fast as he could. He knew where there was money in then Old House and went to get it, along with his things.

It could not have lasted. Nothing good lasted for him. Why had he told himself that it could? He belonged behind bars, in dark alleys, turning tricks... that was his fate and he would never escape it. Why had he allowed Barnabas to tell him otherwise? Barnabas had only been a dreamer...