Chapter 9
Maggie searched through her closet for a pair of jeans. "I know I just saw those suckers," she said to herself. She couldn't find them so she went to the other side of her room and opened the dresser drawer with her long pants in them. Not there either. "Well, only one other place they could be," Maggie whispered as she walked out of her bedroom. She went into the laundry room and looked in the clothes hamper. Nope. Then she looked in the dryer. She reached in and pulled out a sock. "Where on earth did those jeans get to?" she asked herself. Going into the den to get her purse, Maggie glanced at the fire place.
A rush of memories hit her. She now remembered where those jeans where. She hadn't missed them since she disposed of them herself. Those jeans were in the bag of clothes that had blood all over them, and Maggie remembered burning them in the fire place.
Maggie bent down and picked up her purse. She went into her room and zipped up her suitcase and left the room, turning the light out. She went up to the door and grabbing her keys off the hook, she turned the light out exited the house.
Knock, knock, knock. Angelique rose from the couch in the drawing room and went out into the foyer. She passed a few suitcases sitting on the floor and went up to the door. She opened it. "Hello Maggie. I can't thank you enough for coming on such short notice." Angelique stepped aside and let Maggie walk in. "It's no problem. Debby just got back from her vacation and wedding so I don't have to work the counter everyday now." Maggie set her suitcase down. "Which room will I be staying in?" "I had Megan prepare the room across the hall from Rogers for you. She will show you where it is. Come into the drawing room and sit down." Angelique walked into the drawing room and sat down. Maggie followed. "I thought I would warn you Maggie, Roger was at all thrilled about having someone to watch over him like a child. I just want to apologize in advance for anything he might say or do. If he gives you a hard time just ignore him and he will get over it." "Thanks for the warning, but I don't think I'll have a problem with him. I'll just give him some business magazines I brought with me to keep him busy." "He'll love that." Angelique looked over to the doorway just as David entered. "Oh Maggie! Here already! Thank you for coming. I hope father won't give you to much trouble." "Yes, Angelique was just telling me that he may be problematic, but as I told her, I made sure to bring a few business magazines for him to read." "Yes, she was. Well, I hate to run so soon but our plane leaves shortly and if we don't hurry we may miss it." "Of course, I don't mean to tie you up. Have a good time!" Maggie saw David and Angelique out into the foyer and then out the door.
Maggie returned to the drawing room and sat down on the couch. Soon after, Roger entered. "Well, I see you've come. I didn't really believe David or Angelique when they said they were going away. This is such a horrid time to decide they want a vacation given the situation with the business!" Roger huffed, coming in and sitting down. "I'm glad to see you're well," Maggie answered Roger. "Are you really?" "I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't. I've brought you something," Maggie said, opening her suitcase and then handing the magazines to Roger. "I suppose these are to keep me busy, are they?" "I figured that you would probably need something to do with yourself." "Yes, you're right, I do need something to do." Roger opened one of the magazines and began to search through it for an article he could read. "I just cannot understand why they think I needed a baby-sitter. The servants are in the house, are they not? I would be fine with them here." Roger continued to flip the pages of the magazine he was looking at. "I would have done the same thing had you been my father. Now stop complaining! You should be touched that your son and daughter-in-law love you enough to think of you when they go away. I am going to go up to my room. If you need anything, let me know." Maggie left the room and headed upstairs.
Carolyn left Quentin's hospital room and went out into the hall with the doctor. "You already know that his surgery went wonderfully, and I expect him to make a full recovery," Dr. Adams told her. "I feel a 'but' coming soon." "But, I also know you were worried about memory loss, and I can't guarantee that he will have his memory when he wakes up. He may not know who he is, much less you. I just wanted you to be prepared." "Thank you." Carolyn re-entered Quentins room and sat down in the chair to do yet more waiting.
Hours went by and Carolyn sat in the chair beside her brothers bed and willed him to wake up. Talking to him, telling him she loved him and that when he woke up he would tell her everything, that there would be no memory loss at all. Finally, a breakthrough came.
Quentin began to stir. "No! NO! You won't get me! Get away you bastards!" Quentin started yelling. He sat up so fast that he tore his IV out and he started to get out of the bed. "Quentin! Wait! Where are you going? You have to stay here!" "No, no! I have to go! They'll get me! They're everywhere!" Quentin started to pluck off the heart monitor wires. Dr. Adams rushed in. "Keep him away from me! Don't let him come near me! He's one of them! I know it! Everyone is! Everyone is trying to kill me! No! No! I won't let you do it! No!" Quentin punched Dr. Adams arm and knocked the needle out of it. Dr. Adams bent down to pick it up and Quentin hit him over the head and rushed out the door.
Dr. Adams lifted himself off the floor and ran out into the hall after Quentin. Down the hall and into the elevator is where Dr. Adams went. Reaching the second floor, he let the door open and then looked out into the hall. Nothing. The doors closed again and the doctor went to the first floor. The doors opened and Quentin was laying on the floor. A few seconds someone rushed up with a gurney and the man and Dr. Adams put Quentin on it. "Thank you Rob, he's my patient, I'll take it from here." Dr. Adams wheeled the gurney into the elevator and took Quentin back up to the third floor and into his room.
"Doctor, what happened?" Carolyn asked as Dr. Adams hooked the monitors back up to Quentin and a nurse reinserted his IV. "Just a bit of dementia, but it seemed to me that he remembered what happened to him. All those ravings. I am amazed he made it to the first floor. He must've had a lot of strength." "Is that unusual?" "He just came out of surgery yesterday, he shouldn't even want to do something like that." "Is he going to remember any of this? Or anything that happened to him when he wakes up again?" "It's hard to say. It seemed he remembered it today, but tomorrow is a different story."
When the doctor and nurse were finished with Quentin they left the room. Carolyn retook the position in the chair beside Quentin's bed, and started once again wishing for him to wake up, and this time to not be spaced out.
A few hours of waiting brought another development. As Carolyn was sitting and waiting with her head laid down on Quentin's bed, she heard something crash. She looked up to see Quentin looking over the side of the bed. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "QUENTIN! You're awake!" Carolyn screamed, hugging her brother. "Have been for quite some time. It's you who have been asleep." "Do you remember anything?" "Yes, I remember everything. Everything that happened to me." "Well?" "Well what? You mean you want to know?" "Duh! Of course I want to know! I want to help." "Okay. If you want to know I shall tell you. When I left Collinwood, I first went to the south. To Georgia. While there, I bought a house and made a name for myself. About a year after I was living there, weird things started to happen. I felt like I was at Collinwood again. People started mysteriously dying, and there was a frightening pattern to it. Every night that I would go to a bar, someone would die. And they were all killed at the same time – 10 p.m. Someone connected the pattern to my going to the bar and I became a suspect in the murders. But I didn't do them. I was confined to the small town that I was living in. People distanced themselves from me. Hardly anyone but the police would talk to me. I lived alone in that house. I am not really sure what happened to me, but I started to go out of my mind. The police really started suspecting me then." "What did you do?" "I just tried to keep my mind off that. I thought about Collinwood and what was going on there. I tried to stop drinking but I couldn't. Eventually I drank up all the liquor in the house. Once I had done that, I started seeing things." "What sort of things?" "I don't really know. I guess they were hallucinations. Every now and then I would see someone peek into a window or see them walking around in the house. I could tell that they weren't normal people because whenever I tried to chase after them or talk to them they would disappear. I thought maybe it was the ghosts of the house I had bought since the house is very old. I went to the library, a rare feat for me, and researched a bit into the houses past but turned up nothing. "For a while I didn't see them again. But, after a few weeks had gone by, I saw one walking around in my house. I walked after it, and when it turned around, it had the most hideous mask on that I had ever seen. There were no eyes, and when I looked through the eye holes, I saw nothing. The mouth was in a wicked sneering position. I couldn't understand it. I tried to touch the thing, but when I did it disappeared. "From that point on the mask haunted my dreams. I went to the library again, and this time, like the last, I found nothing. I went to see if there was any kind of information on the mask but there wasn't. I kept seeing them over and over and over. Then things got worse." "How so?" "For starters those things kept coming back, and, I started getting the feeling that I was being watched, and it was everyday to. I decided to leave that place, but before I did I went to see the sheriff. I asked him if I had been cleared of the charges against me and he said no. So, I couldn't leave until I was. When I did leave, I still wasn't cleared of the charges but I didn't care because I just wanted to get away. So, I got on a train to travel back up here. When I got off the train I went to stay at a hotel in New York. From that point on, I don't remember anything. I just remember being attacked, I think by one of those things I was seeing at my house in Georgia, and then seeing you just before I passed out at Collinwood. I don't know what I did in New York and I don't know how I got back here."
Carolyn paused and let it all sink in before speaking. "It is all very strange. You didn't arrive with any luggage, and all you said was "they got to me", before you passed out. I guess that whoever 'they' are, they must have captured you or something." "I only know one thing and that is that I have to find out who these people are and what they want of me. They must really need me for something if they followed me all the way back up here." "Either that, or they really want you dead."
Chapter 10
A few days went by. The doctors determined that Quentin was ready to go home, but they told both him and Carolyn that he needed to take it easy for at least a few more days. Maggie and Roger had gotten along famously despite the warnings that Angelique had given him. Angelique and David had been gone for 4 days now, and no one had heard from them. Maggie wondered what they were doing. She hoped they were having a good time and that David had taken his mind away from the troubles at Collinwood.
Carolyn and Quentin returned to Collinwood, and Carolyn told Maggie that she could go back home if she wanted to but Maggie declined. She told Carolyn that she wanted to stay and help out if she could. Maggie had really fallen in love with Collinwood all over again. She had forgotten how enormous the house was and how luxurious. She spent most of her time wandering the house and getting familiar with it once again. Exploring the east and west wings, Maggie found a lot of dust and cob webs. She loved the eloquent antique furniture that had sat in the wings unused for years. Many of the rooms looked like someone had just left. Books left open on desks and beds unmade. Maybe in the times these wings were used the servants weren't very good, Maggie thought.
She had found a book in a room in the east wing that she had become quite involved in during her stay at Collinwood. It was about a girl who moves away from her home town. The town that she moves into has weird people and traditions. Eventually she gets sucked into some sort of twisted murderous plan with the man she had fallen in love with. Maggie stayed up late at night reading the book. She flipped through page after page of the book until she had only a few pages left.
As dawn came over Collinwood, Quentin Collins paced his room. He was trying desperately to remember what had brought him back to Collinwood and how he arrived there. He remembered the doctor telling him to take it easy, which WAS easy for the doctor to say since HE wasn't missing parts of his memory. Quentin felt 100% better the day after he came home, and was ready to get back to normal life.
As he paced his room, Quentin looked at himself in the mirror. He was paler that usual and his hair was messed up. He hadn't slept since he returned home. He just paced back and forth from one side to the next of his room, racking his brain for anything that might trigger a memory. At some points he would sit in the chair beside the gramophone that had been passed down to him from his father, and from his fathers father, and stare at the bottle of brandy that was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, beside a glass. He had a great urge to pick up the bottle and start pouring. He stared into the bottle of brown liquor and watched the candlelight reflect in the glass.
There was one time that Quentin actually poured a drink for himself. It was the night he had gotten home. Carolyn helped him up to his room and told him that if he needed anything to use the in-house phone line to call her room and ask her. He thanked her and once she had left, he locked the door. He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it up to reveal all the clothes from years before that he hadn't taken when he left. He took some of them out and dusted them off, holding them up in front of him and looking in the mirror to see how he looked. Memories rushed into his mind of experiences he had had in each outfit. He remembered the many anonymous women he had slept with in each outfit. He remembered falling for one of those women while on a date with her in another outfit. How he missed her. He dismissed the though as soon as it came to him. "No! She's dead! She can never come back!" Quentin said to himself as he stuffed the suit back into the wardrobe and slammed the door.
Quentin walked over to his roll top desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. He lifted the lid of the desk and saw his former companion sitting there. The bottle of brandy was sitting on the desk top staring back out at him, calling his name. Quentin picked the bottle up and walked over to the middle of the room where he sat the bottle down on the table. He went over to the mantle and picked the dusty glass up. He blew into it and a cloud of dust rose out. Taking a loose end of his shirt in his hand, Quentin wiped the rest of the dust out of the glass. He set the glass down on the table and lifted the lid out of the bottle of brandy. Picking the bottle up and turning it sideways, Quentin filled the glass halfway before putting the bottle back down and placing the lid in it.
Quentin picked the glass up and swiped it back and forth under his nose, taking in the strong fumes of the drink. He held the glass out in front of him. The fire in the fireplace danced in the glass. He once again swiped the glass back and forth under his nose. He remembered how he used to get such a high out of drinking until he dropped. It would be so easy now to just raise the glass to his lips and gulp down glass after glass of this liquid gold and make his troubles disappear. Quentin placed the glass back down on the table and began to pace the room.
He couldn't do it, he just couldn't! Quentin knew it! But it was so easy to lift the glass and down the brandy. So easy to make his troubles and worries disappear, and in a matter of minutes to. He had to do it! He had to! Quentin was never good at dealing with life, and life certainly had not dealt him and easy hand to deal with! This was his one escape. This IS his one escape. Who would know? He would. Who would stop him? No one could.
Quentin picked the glass back up. Taking one last whiff of the magic juice, Quentin raised the glass to his lips. The brandy licked at his lips, desperate to find an entrance to Quentin's mouth. Quentin parted his lips and tipped the glass upwards, allowing the entire glass of brandy slip into his mouth. He held it there, trying enormously hard not to swallow, and not to let the brandy slip down his throat as it had so many times before. He felt a few drops slip down his throat, burning lines into his esophagus as it went down. At the exact moment, Quentin turned and spit the brandy out into the fire, causing it to warm up. He slammed the glass back onto the table so hard it is a wonder that it didn't break.
Quentin ran over to a corner in his room and hunched down in hit. He put his head between his knees. "It was only a few drops," Quentin said to himself. "Yea, a few drops that will lead to a few kegs," he continued. He sat in the corner for a few minutes before he lifted his head and looked at the bottle of brandy on the table beside the glass. He couldn't touch it again. He knew that.
Flash forward. Quentin, one day later, sitting in the chair beside his father's gramophone, staring into the bottle of brandy which was sitting in the exact same place he had left it a day before. He wasn't going to go through the dance routine he had gone through the day before with the glass of brandy. He was either going to drink it, or leave it in the bottle. Decisions, decisions. What would he do? He wanted a full glass, the whole bottle, so badly. But at the same time he knew that if he took one more sip he would be hooked again. He went through rehab just for this purpose, so he could make the right decision and easily. Then why was it so hard?
Quentin rose from his seated position. He walked over to the table and picked up the brandy bottle. Just as he did yesterday, he filled the glass halfway with the brandy and then put the bottle back down. He picked the glass up. He was going to do it this time. He was going to drink that glass. He had wasted his time in rehab. Nobody would ever be able to get him to kick this habit no matter how hard they tried. He lifted the glass to his open and ready mouth. Half of what was in the glass slipped into his mouth. He tried to force himself to swallow it. The brandy just wouldn't go down his throat. He wanted to swallow it but he was stopping himself.
Quentin gargled the brandy in his throat. It felt good swishing around inside his mouth. He finally swallowed the brandy. Drinking the other half in the glass, Quentin poured a whole glass full. He poured the brandy into his mouth out of the glass and swallowed. Before long, Quentin started drinking straight from the bottle. In about fifteen minutes, the entire bottle of brandy was empty.
Quentin began frantically to search his room for another bottle of anything. He didn't care what is was, he was going to drink it. He furiously pulled the drawers from his dresser and desk, dumping them out onto the floor and then sifting through the contents with his foot. Nothing in either piece of furniture. He flipped his mattress over and looked there, throwing the sheeting onto the floor. Nothing. Quentin dropped to the floor and looked under the bed and into the bottom of the box spring. Nothing. Quentin stood up and looked around the room.
He tried to remember if there were any secret places that he used to hide liquor. He went over to his wardrobe and took all the clothes out, throwing them across the room. He looked around the bottom of the wardrobe. There was nothing but shoes. Quentin stood on his tip toes and looked over the top of the wardrobe. Nothing there but dust. Quentin once again dropped to the floor but this time looked under the wardrobe. Nothing their but an old sock which Quentin left lying there. He stood up and walked over to the mantle, placing his hands on the mantle and leaned onto it. He looked up at the painting of a cottage on the sea hanging over top of the mantle. A memory suddenly hit him. Quentin moved the painting aside to reveal a hole in the wall.
Taking the painting off the wall and laying it on the floor, Quentin reached into the hole and felt around. A bottle! Yes! Quentin pulled it out and looked at it. Empty. He threw it behind him and heard it hit a wall. Quentin continued to feel around. He felt farther to the left. There was nothing else. He felt to the right. Another bottle! Quentin pulled it out and read the label. It was Vodka, and a full bottle to! Quentin quickly unscrewed the lid and threw it to the floor. He started gulping down the liquor. Half the bottle was gone when Quentin took the bottle away from his mouth. He took a breath before putting the bottle back up to his mouth. After the whole bottle was downed, Quentin dropped it to the floor. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stuck his hand back into the hole. There was nothing else.
More! More! He had to have more! Quentin went over to the door and slowly and quietly unlocked it. Slowly opening it, the door pushed the clothes laying behind it across the floor. Quentin lightly stepped out of his room and into the hall. He walked down the hallway until he came to another door which he quietly opened. He peeked his head out into the hallway and looked around. Everyone's door was shut and there was no lights on. Quentin sneaked downstairs and into the kitchen. He rumbled through the pantries looking for a bottle of liquor. He found the jackpot! Countless bottles of brandy, cherry, vodka, burban, amontillado, among others. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and stuffed it in one of his pockets. He grabbed a small bottle of amontillado and stuffed that in another pocket. Grabbing a bottle of brandy with his right hand and a bottle of cherry with his left, Quentin shut the pantry doors and left the kitchen.
Reaching his room and entering, Quentin unloaded his booty onto the table with the empty brandy bottle sitting on it. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and downed that first. They the brandy. Then the cherry. Saving the best for last, Quentin picked up the bottle of amontillado and began walking around the room. He started staggering and stumbling. Stumbling into a wall, Quentin fell to the ground and landed on a pile of clothes. He twisted the top off the bottle of amontillado and took a swing. He started giggling like a child. Rehab. Ha! What good did it do him? None! And he told Carolyn it wouldn't but she insisted. Sometimes he thought her a little to wishful for reality. She was always trying to better everyone. Quentin took another swig. He looked at his room. How long would it take him to clean this mess up? With all the liquor he had drank her certainly wouldn't want to do it tomorrow. He was going to have a horrible hangover. Maybe he wouldn't wake up until late in the afternoon. That way he wouldn't have to deal with it so soon.
Lifting the bottle to his lips and downing a huge gulp, Quentin twisted the top back on the bottle and set it down beside him. He had just failed himself and everyone around him and he knew it. Carolyn had been counting on his being sober once he got out of rehab. He told her that he went to bars when he was in Georgia, but he hadn't told her that he had only water. Though he was tempted to have a drink, he forced himself not to order one. It was a sort of self induced rehab.
And now what had he done? Come home and the first challenge that he faced he downed numerous bottles of whatever he could find. Perhaps he could never change. That was what he told the rehab people when he first got there. They told he him he could and would change, but it would be up to him when and if he did. Quentin knew he could if he wanted to, but did he want to? At this moment he didn't, but then again he was drunk out of his mind. Quentin unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a gulp of the amontillado. He struggled to raise himself from the floor and when he had, Quentin staggered over to his bed and fell onto it. The mattress was half leaned up against the wall and when Quentin flopped onto the bed, the mattress slowly slid down under him until it came to rest in a position where half the mattress was on the bed and half was hanging over the side.
Quentin dropped his bottle to the floor and grabbed a pillow. Burying his face in the pillow, Quentin slowly drifted off to sleep. Once asleep, Quentin began dreaming. In his dream, he saw Carolyn standing next to one of those things he kept seeing in his house in Georgia. She seemed like she didn't even notice that the thing was there. They were all standing in a extremely dark room. The only thing Quentin could see was Carolyn and the thing standing beside her. Quentin walked up to Carolyn and she held out her hands in front of her. In each of her hands there was one card. Quentin guess that he had to pick one, so, without any thought whatsoever, he picked the one in her left hand. Unfolding the card, he held it up to his face to read what is said: 'The path you choose is one of many dangers. The people you meet along the way you will remember as nothing but strangers. If you continue with the life you currently lead, then this warning you will not heed: Your life is currently filled with booze, and the more you drink the more you lose. Turn you life around and do it straight away, or else you will soon be facing your dying day.'
Quentin turned around as another sight appeared. A light shone in a part of the room, down on to Quentin standing in front of one of those creatures he saw in Georgia. He thing came at him, and, before Quentin could dodge, stabbed Quentin in the chest. Quentin grasped at his chest and fell to the ground. The creature bent down and began to stab Quentin over and over again in the back. When the creature turned Quentin over, Quentin's eyes were wide with fright.
Quentin woke up screaming. He thrashed around in his bed. When he caught a grasp of what had just happened, he rummaged around on the floor, looking for the bottle of amontillado he remembered dropping before he fell asleep. When he found it, he picked it up and stared into to it for a few seconds. Getting up, bottle in hand, he walked over to the fireplace. Quentin unscrewed the top, and, after throwing it into the fire place, he lifted the bottle up. He looked at it as if her were saying goodbye to a life long friend. Kneeling down in front of the fire place, Quentin began to turn to bottle sideways. He placed the bottle to his lips and quickly drank the amontillado bottle dry, and then tossed it into the fireplace.
Chapter 11
"Quentin? Are you all right?" Carolyn placed her ear up to the door and listened for any sound. "Quentin? Quentin are you even in there?" Carolyn listened again. There was no sound coming from Quentin's room. She tried to the door knob. Still locked. "Damn you Quentin!" Carolyn said, huffing off down the hall.
When she returned, she had a ring of keys in her hand. She picked one out with a big Q written in black marker on the square end of the key, and stuck it in the key hole. Turning the key, she turned the door knob and pushed the door open slowly. The same mess that Quentin had fallen asleep on top of in front of the fireplace and all around the room greeted Carolyn when she walked in. "Took two months to clean it up and he trashes it and one night," she muttered, lightly stepping around the room. She saw Quentin laying in front of the fireplace.
"Quentin? Quentin? QUENTIN WAKE UP!!!!!!!!" Quentin jumped up and then land back on the floor with a start. "What the hell are you yelling for?" Quentin mumbled, rubbing his eyes and then his head. "Well, I see you've switched back to your old ways, and rather quickly at that. I thought it would have taken you at least a week to start this mess up again." Carolyn looked down at Quentin angrily. He had no reply for her. "Well, since you are speechless, I shall make one. You went through rehab and for what? To please me? If that's the case you should have done this somewhere else so I wouldn't find the mess. There are a few bottles of liquor missing from the pantry in the kitchen. Should I alert the authorities or am I staring at the culprit?" "What do ya expect? I had a trying time this past few days, years, whatever, and I needed something to ease the pain." "I don't really believe that. You haven't eased any pain because by looking at you, you are in more pain than you were last night." "You know, you are right about that. I would die for some advil." Quentin picked himself off the floor and tripped over a few things on the floor. "You will not have any advil until pick this room up. I spent two months cleaning the crud and mess out of it after you left, and not just so you could come back and trash it in a quarter of that time." "You sound just like our-" "I know, I know, our mother. I can't help but sound like that. You are still as immature as you were when you were younger. For god sakes Quentin, your 35 years old and I am 44! I should not have to pick up after you anymore!" Carolyn walked out of the room, head held high, and shut the door behind her, locking Quentin in his room. "Look at Ms. High and Mighty," Quentin muttered to himself, laying down on his bed.
In the drawing room, Maggie sat on the sofa reading the morning paper. A familiar headline graced the front page: 'Another Local Girl Murdered: Police Say a Serial Killer May Be On the Loose,'. Maggie just skimmed the article to catch the person's name: Jeremy Skiller. A man this time! After three women had been killed the killer switched to a man.
Maggie looked through the rest of the paper and found nothing to her interest so she set the paper on the coffee table. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, walking over to the bay window. She looked out upon the grounds as the sun slowly rose over the grass, making it shine and twinkle from the thin layer of due laying over it. The leaves on the tree swayed in the wind, and a few of them broke off. Fall was coming and all the leaves would start turning those pretty reds and yellows and oranges that Maggie just adored to look at on a fine fall day. "Good morning," Carolyn said entering the drawing room and breaking Maggies daydreams. "Is it?" Maggie answered, continuing to stare out the window. "What do you mean?" "Well, judging by the screaming that was going on by a person who shall remain nameless," Maggie glanced at Carolyn and started walking over to her, "it isn't." "Oh, you heard that?" Carolyn gave a slight chuckle. "I didn't think I was yelling that loud." "Did you see the morning paper?" Maggie asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of the couch. "No, I-" Carolyn picked up the paper and read the headline. "Oh, that's awful. Another murder! When are the police gonna wise up and catch this madman?" "I don't know. Hopefully it will be before he kills another person."
Carolyn sat down on the couch and began reading the article. "It says here that his girlfriend found him sitting on there front porch with his eyes wide open with terror." Carolyn looked up at Maggie. "What?!" Maggie said, surprised. She suddenly remembered finding Joe dead on her front porch. She could definitely identify with that poor girl. "Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry. I forgot." "It's—it's okay Carolyn, really." Maggie took another sip of her coffee. Carolyn put down the newspaper.
In the foyer, Quentin banged and fumbled down the stairs. Walking like someone had tied puppet strings to his arms and feet, Quentin entered the drawing room and sat down in a chair. He leaned his head back against the back of the chair and started laughing. "What are you laughing about?" Carolyn asked in a stern tone. "You thought you could lock me in, ha ha, but I had a spare key." Quentin continued laughing and didn't lift his head up and look at Carolyn. "Well, next time I'll remember to get that key away from you." "Oh, you know what, screw you! All you do is preach to me over and over again about how I should stop drinking. Why don't you take your sermons and shove them! I can't stop drinking, it's the only companion I've had through the years. Nobody has ever been there to talk with me, everyone was always so preoccupied with everything else! So take your stupid values and your idiotic speeches and eat them for all I care!" Quentin looked at Carolyn with rage while he said this and then he started laughing again. "You know, I think I'm about as full of it as you are!" Quentin said, laughing. "Please Quentin! Let's talk about this later!" "Oh god! We wouldn't want dear sweet Maggie to be in the room to hear what we were saying so she could go and tell the rest of the town what a crappy family we really are! We you know what!? Damn family pride and all that junk! I'm tired of it all!" Quentin said this in a half serious, half laughing voice. He got up and walked that same puppet walk he had walked into the drawing room. He went over to the bar and poured a glass of the brown liquid. "See this?" he said raising the glass. "This is the only salvation I have ever had in my life. So, here's to—here's to my salvation!" Quentin drank it all and then spit it out immediately in front of the doorway. "What the hell is this?" "It's brandy," Carolyn answered. "Well it must've gone bad or something," Quentin said, swaying back in forth. He dropped the glass to the floor and walked out of the room.
Carolyn turned to Maggie. She started laughing quietly. "What's so funny?" "I replaced all the brandy in the brandy bottles with tea!" Carolyn and Maggie started laughing together. They thought of Quentin going into the study and drinking that 'brandy' and spitting it out. The day began to get better. Carolyn asked Maggie not to tell anyone what she had seen at the house while she was staying there. Maggie told Carolyn that she wouldn't tell, and that Carolyn didn't even have to ask her not to.
Maggie arrived home and put her suitcases down in the living room. Her overall stay at Collinwood had been a good one, and Roger hadn't been as much trouble as she thought he was going to be. David and Angelique were still away, and Maggie hoped the were having a good time and that David was spending his time there worrying about the problems that he was going to have when he returned.
Maggie set her purse down on the couch and went over to the inn table where her phone and answering machine were setting. She pressed the message button and the answering machine told her in a computer voice "You have one message,". The machine beeped and the message began playing. At first there was a long period of silence, probably about 20 seconds or so. Then came only breathing, and heavy breathing at that. A few seconds later, a horrifying scream erupted from the machine, so loud that it was sure to explode Maggie's ear drums, so she had to cover her ears. The scream lasted for 30 seconds or so, at which point a most hideous evil laughter could be heard. It was a woman's laughter. The laughter lasted for a short time, and then the voice said "Murder, murder, that's the game. Collinsport will never be the same!" and the laughter started again.
Maggie hurriedly unplugged the machine and fell to the floor. She covered her face, hysterically crying. Who would do this to her, and why would they do it? Maggie couldn't think. She decided after taking a few deep breaths and calming herself down that she would call the police and give them the tape as evidence.
"Is there no damned brandy in the whole of this house?" Quentin screamed aloud as he hastily rummaged through a cabinet in the cellar. He had looked in the pantry, the study, the library, and practically every other room in the house, even going so far as looking in the east and west wings to see if there was any brandy left in any of the bottles that his ancestors drank from years before him. He had found nothing in any place, and would find nothing here either.
"This house! This wretched house!" Quentin screamed, picking up a old wooden crate and throwing it against the cinder block wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He had drank the last of the liquor in the house last night. "But how can that be? There was a ton of other bottles in the pantry then." Quentin thought for a moment. "Carolyn. That witch!" Quentin rushed out of the cellar and up the stairs. He reached Carolyns door and put his ear up to it to listen to see if she was in there. He heard nothing. Placing his hand on the door handle, he slowly twisted it. It began to squeak loudly, so Quentin opened the door and shut it quickly. Roger came out of his room, rolling his oxygen cart behind him. He listened for the noise that had brought him out. He heard nothing. "This old house, always creaking and cracking, making me waste my oxygen," he mumbled, going back into his room and slamming the door.
Quentin looked around in Carolyn's room. The drapes were drawn, so he need not to turn on a lamp. "Where would she hide it?" Quentin asked himself, looking around the room. He started with the dresser, opening drawer after drawer and feeling around in the clothes for any bottles. Nothing. He then bent down and looked under the bed. He felt up inside the box spring. Nothing their either. Next he moved to the closet. He opened the door and turned the overhead light on. There was nothing in there but clothes. Quentin shut the door rather hard, realizing a few seconds after that it may have been a mistake.
Quentin suddenly had a bright idea. The cottage! Carolyn could have taken all the brandy there! No one had lived there for years so it would be the perfect place to hide something like that. Quentin left Carolyn's room and headed down to the cottage. Walking through the woods, the leaves and fallen branches crunched under his feet. He looked up at the sky. Completely clear. No storm clouds whatsoever, which was totally unlike Collinsport. Tonight would be a full moon. How glad Quentin was that he didn't have to go through that awful changing process again, and that he didn't have to come out of it knowing that he had probably committed murder.
Reaching the cottage, Quentin opened the door which had a few pieces of glass missing. He walked inside. Looking around, he saw nothing but cob webs and broken furniture. There were leaves all over the place, and a few of the beams had fallen from the ceiling. Quentin walked into one of the bedrooms and looked around. There was nothing but a bed and the inn tables on either side of it. He walked over to the closet and opened it. Nothing. Quentin went back out into the living room and looked at the fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace which was leaning to the right. Quentin noticed a bit of light shining through a hole that the painting was not covering. He went over and took the painting off the wall, simply throwing it to the floor. He looked into the hole that was behind it. Jackpot. Full of bottles of brandy, vodka, amontillado, among others.
Quentin took three of the bottles out of the hole in the wall and stuffed them into his pockets. He took another out, this one full of amontillado, and opened it, downing a fourth of it in a gulp. "That's not good for you, you know," a voice came from nowhere. Quentin spun around and looked for its origin. "Who said that?" "I did," said a man draped in a long silver cape that flowed through the air like water through a tube. The man had blonde hair and piercing green eyes. His face was very masculine, his cheek and jaw bones clearly outlined in his skin. "Who are you?" Quentin asked, raising the bottle to his lips. "Ah-ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said, waving his index finger at Quentin. "Well then it's a good thing you ain't me, isn't it?" Quentin said, tipping the bottle up so that the liquor flowed into his mouth. He quickly spit it out towards the man in the silver cape. The liquid froze in mid air and dropped to the floor when the man held his hand up. "I told you not to do it." "What the hell was that?" Quentin asked, tossing the bottle aside, and it breaking when it hit the floor. "Blood. A taste that you should be used to." "Who are you?" "A friend, or an enemy, depending on you." "Why does everything depend on me? Whether or not a tree gets cut down depends on me anymore." "Everything depends on you because you are the key to everything." "What?" "Here, sit down," the man said, motioning to two chairs that hadn't been there before. They were covered with a red velvet, and when Quentin sat down he thought that they were very comfortable. The man sat down in the chair across from Quentin. "If someone comes by here, they will see us here," Quentin said, taking out a brandy bottle from the inside pocket of his coat. He held it up and looked at it. Suddenly the whole room was bathed in candle light. "Yes, that is blood as well. All the liquor here is." The man stared intently at Quentin, waiting for yet another question. "What is your name?" Quentin asked, dropping the bottle to the floor, it shattering and the blood spilling everywhere. "My name is Andron. I suggest you stop dropping the bottles of blood to the floor." "And why is that?" "Because every time you do, someone in this town looses a pint of blood. It only takes four bottles, depending on the size, to break and kill someone. And, when you've killed all the people whose blood is kept in those bottles, the bottles you break will be of your own blood." "Why?" "It is your curse Quentin." "But Magda placed the werewolf curse on me. I was not cursed to kill people." "Ah, but you were. Everytime you change you kill someone. And, you don't change anymore, at least you didn't for a while.' "What do you mean I didn't for a while? I don't change into that beast at all!" "That's where you are wrong, dear Quentin. Look. Look at the portrait you so carelessly threw to the ground." Andron pointed to the portrait laying on the floor beside Quentins chair. Quentin looked down at it. It was his portrait and it had a huge rip through the center of it!
Chapter 12
"But, but—but that wasn't the portrait I threw to the ground!" "Are you sure? Did you even really look at it? I don't think you did. You were to hell bent on getting another glass of brandy down your throat. And what about those people you have been seeing. Have you seen any of them lately?" "What do you know of them?" "Enough. Enough to tell you who and what they are." "Well?!?! What are they?!?!" "Not now Quentin, perhaps later, after our discussion has progressed a bit further." "Yes! Yes, now! I come here and you show up and suddenly my portrait is the one I threw to the ground when it wasn't before, and all the good liquor that I had been searching for turns to blood. What gives?" "I give. You take. Haven't you heard anything I have said in the short time we have talked? Every drink you have ever put into your body had taken life from someone. You have slowly, but surely, drained about 200 peoples blood from their body. Do you know how that feels? Of course you don't! But you shall, soon enough." "Why do you tell me all these things? You must know I am going to ask questions, and I know that you will not answer them." "I will answer them, but you will not have the answers if you do not pay attention. Now, as I was saying, you have drained the life, slowly, from about 200 people. Every drink you take will drain the blood, the life force from another that you will never know. They are merely good bottles of drink to you, nothing more." "Will I start changing again? Into that horrible beast?" "Yes, you will. You have led a miserable life Quentin, and it is about time you started paying for it." "With what? I have nothing." "Oh, everybody has something. You Quentin, you have a soul. A soul that the devil himself would very much like to get a hold of right about now, which is why I was sent here. Quentin, you must change. Change your ways. I know it will be hard, but it must be done. The more people you kill, the more desirable you will become. Quentin, you are a force. A force which if conquered and consumed, will make whomever has your soul the most powerful being on earth. The most powerful evil being that is." "What am I to do?" "Isn't it obvious? STOP KILLING PEOPLE! Again, I ask, have you not heard one word I've said? You cannot have another drink. I've already told you that with every drink you take, you ingest yet another part of yet another person. You are the only one who has control over this Quentin. Should your essence, your soul, get into the hands of another, should you die, the world will come to an end. Which brings me to the people you have been seeing. They are not imaginary. They are real. They are a society of hunters, employed by the devil, to hunt down immortals and kill them, giving their souls to the devil so he may become stronger. You are currently the most powerful immortal on this earth." "Does this all have to fall upon my shoulders?" "Yes. It does. Now listen. You must not be killed by the hunters. They must not have your soul. You must stop your self destruction for good! You will be forever inflicted with your werewolf curse, and nothing can stop you from changing. But, you can stop yourself from killing others. You have done it before, you can do it again. Listen to my warning Quentin, and heed it! Your life depends upon it! Your...life...depends...upon...it! Your.......life...........depends.........upon........i.......t!" Andron had disappeared.
Quentin looked around. He screamed for the man to come back. "Andron! Andron! Come back! Tell me more!" He kept looking around. Carolyn walked into the cottage. "Quentin have you been drinking again? I hid all the liquor so you wouldn't find it, but it seems you have." Carolyn had that 'tsk, tsk' look. "No, I haven't been drinking." "Quentin, how can you lie to me when your upper lip is stained red?" "That's blood." Quentin looked around the room to see if any of the bottles he had thrown about and had broken were still there. They weren't. "Blood? Are you hurt?" "No, no. I'm fine," Quentin said softly. He was still trying to sort out the things that Andron had said to him. He ironically needed a drink. "Let's go back to Collinwood." Quentin walked around Carolyn and out of the cottage.
Knock, knock, knock. Maggie looked up from the magazine she had been trying to read to keep her mind off of the message on her answering machine. She put the magazine down on the couch beside her, and got up. She walked over to the door where she put her hand on the knob and asked "Who is it?" "It's Sheriff Winfield." Maggie waited for a moment and then unlocked the door. "Thank you for coming sheriff. Please, come in." Maggie stepped aside and let him in before closing and locking the door behind him. "So what is this about a message left on your machine?" "I came home from staying at Collinwood and I checked my messages. I had only one message, so I played it. At first there was nothing but silence. Then there was heavy breathing. Then horrible screaming! Then there was laughter! The most haunting laughter! Then, the person on the other end said 'Murder, murder, that's the game. Collinsport will never be the same!' and started laughing again!" Maggie became hysterical as she explained what had happened. The sheriff went over to calm her. "Calm down Ms. Evans, calm down. May I listen to the message?" "Yes," Maggie said, pointing to the machine. She was afraid of it, afraid to go near it or even touch it. The sheriff pushed the play button. "You have one message," the machined said in the same computerized voice. "Message one," the message started playing. Maggie covered her ears.
There was silence, just like before. Then there was a heavy breathing, like someone was hyperventilating because they were frightened. Then came heavy sobbing and a light scream. The sobbing continued for the whole message. The machine cut off and said "End of messages." The sheriff turned to Maggie who had her ears covered, and who was lightly humming so she wouldn't have to hear the message over again. "Uh, Ms. Evans?" Maggie didn't hear him. "Ms. Evans!?!!?" Maggie lightly jumped and let her hands fall from her ears. "Are you sure this is the message you described to me?" "Yes, yes I'm sure. It was horrible!" "Um, Ms. Evans, the message I listened to was not the one you described to me." "What? Are you sure? How can that be?" "Yes, I am sure. The message I heard had silence first, then heavy breathing like you described, but then there was sobbing and a light scream. The sobbing continued until the message ended." "That can't be possible! The message that I described is on there, it has to be!" Maggie walked over to the machine and hesitated for a moment before touching the play button. The machine repeated the same message it had before when the sheriff had listened to it. When the message was finished playing, Maggie looked shocked. "That's my reaction to the message when I heard it. Can't that be used? Certainly it should prove that there was a message." "Well Ms. Evans, it does hint that there was a message, but it would never hold up as hard evidence. You could have been crying over anything on that tape. I'm sorry." The sheriff walked over to the door. Maggie looked appalled. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It simply wasn't possible. Although, she should have known that in Collinsport anything was possible. "Thank you for coming sheriff," Maggie said flatly, still searching her mind for a reason to what had happened. The sheriff unlocked the door and let himself out. Maggie dropped to the floor, leaning against the back of the couch. She desperately tried to put two and two together to make four, but the addition wasn't working. There was no sound reason that the message should have been deleted. She didn't delete it. The power hadn't gone out. No one else had been there since she had gotten home—she had sat right beside the machine until the sheriff arrived. Unless, unless someone she couldn't see deleted the message. A ghost? No. Wouldn't she have felt its presence? Maggie's mind filled with hundreds of questions, and she would spend much of night trying to figure them out.
Quentin and Carolyn had returned to Collinwood and sat in the drawing room. She knew something was wrong with him, but he was reluctant to tell her what it was. She tried to get him to slip up and tell her something, something she could use to figure out what was wrong with him on her own. "Quentin, something happened to you at the cottage, didn't it?" Carolyn inquired, staring at him. "How many times do I have to tell you no? Which letter don't you understand?" Quentin had grew tiresome of her questions about 20 questions ago. "Quentin, there is no use lying to me. I know something happened to you at the cottage. When I came in you looked confused, like you were trying to figure something out. Now tell me what is bothering you. You know you can trust me." Carolyn looked with pleading eyes at Quentin. He hesitated for a moment. "I...I.." he started, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. Carolyn looked annoyed as she got up and walked over to the phone, picking up the receiver.
"Hello?" "Ms. Stoddard? This is Sheriff Winfield." "What can I do for you sheriff?" "Nothing, thank you. I have called because I have some news about your cousin and his wife" "About David?" "Yes. His flight went down over Virginia. I don't have much information beyond that. The authorities down there don't think anyone survived. I'm sorry." Carolyn's face dropped. She didn't say anything for several seconds. "Thank—thank you sheriff." Carolyn hung up. She walked over to the couch and sat down, stunned.
"Carolyn, what happened?" "David's....David's plane went down over Virginia. The authorities don't know if anyone survived or not." Carolyn dropped her head between her legs and into her hands. "Oh my god," was all Quentin could say. "I'll have to go down there to claim the bodies." "If they are dead, Carolyn. We don't know that they are yet." "I know, I know. I'm going up to pack." Carolyn left the room, tears running down her cheeks. A short time later, Carolyn was gone.
Quentin sat alone in the drawing room. He busied himself be thinking about what Andron had said to him earlier at the cottage. A few new questions brewed in Quentin's mind about Andron. Like, what was he? Where did he come from? Why was he helping a lost cause like Quentin? Quentin wondered if what Andron had told him about drinking and it taking away other people's blood was true. Could it have just been something that would make Quentin stop drinking? If so, why did Andron tell Quentin something as drastic as that? Why didn't Andron tell him that if he didn't stop that he would die? Did Andron think that Quentin didn't care about his own life enough to save it?
All these thoughts passed through Quentin's head at the speed of light, coming in one side and going out the other. Quentin dropped his head into his hands. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now, and to be able to drink it without thinking that he may or may not be killing someone. Quentin looked up, and on the table in front of him sat a glass of brandy. It hadn't been there before, so how did it get here? Quentin knew how. "Andron! This is a test isn't it! I know it is! You knew I was thinking that I wanted a drink so you provided me with one, didn't you?!? Well, I won't drink it! I won't! I am going to past this test!" Quentin got up and picked up the glass of brandy. He walked over to the fireplace. He was going to throw it in, but something stopped him. He raised the glass until it was under his nose, and he sniffed the brandy. It smelt so good. If only he could drink it. "Oh no! I'm not going to do it! You lose!" Quentin threw the glass into the fireplace, causing it to flare up and turn a unlikely shade of green. Quentin dusted his hands off, feeling quite proud of himself.
With a huge grin on his face, he looked up to the ceiling and said "You see? I passed this test, and I will pass every other one you put before me!" For some reason Quentin felt the need to show Andron up. Typical male competition. Quentin turned around and went back to the chair he was sitting in before and sat down. He looked at the table where the brandy glass had been before. Suddenly, the same brandy glass slowly appeared before Quentin's eyes!
"Oh no. You think just because I didn't drink the first one, I will drink the second one? Well, you're wrong!" Quentin got up and threw that glass into the fireplace, turning the fire the same green it had before. When Quentin turned around, the brandy glass was sitting on the table once again. He went through the same process again, the fire turning the same green it had turned the previous two times. He did this three more times, each time the fire turning green like it had before. When he turned around, after having done it for a seventh time, the glass was on the table again.
"You know what? Fine! I'll drink this wretched brandy, and then what will you do? Hmm? What will you do then? You're the smart one here, so tell me!" Quentin paused, waiting for an answer that wouldn't come. "Fine! Have you damn way!" Quentin picked the glass up and raised it to his mouth. He let the brandy lick at his lips before parting the gates and letting the brandy flow through. When Quentin had downed half the glass, Roger entered the drawing room, oxygen tank handle in one hand, business section of the paper in the other. "Indulging ourselves in a late afternoon drink are we?" Roger said, parking his cart by the couch. "Mmmhmm." Quentin said, finishing the glass. "I thought you had quit drinking," Roger told Quentin, putting his paper down on the couch, but remaining standing. "Well, old habits die hard I guess," Quentin replied, directing the comment more at Andron than at Roger. Quentin sat down in the chair and set the empty brandy glass on the table in front of him. Roger stepped in front of the couch. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side and then grasped the side of the couch, trying with what little strength he had to hold himself up. "Roger? Roger are you all right?" Quentin stood, and looked worried. What was happening to him? Roger suddenly fell to the floor.
Quentin went over to Roger and shook him, trying to get him to wake up. He wouldn't. "Don't die on me now Roger! Don't die!" Quentin continued to shake him, trying to wake him up. There was no response. He felt for a pulse.
Maggie searched through her closet for a pair of jeans. "I know I just saw those suckers," she said to herself. She couldn't find them so she went to the other side of her room and opened the dresser drawer with her long pants in them. Not there either. "Well, only one other place they could be," Maggie whispered as she walked out of her bedroom. She went into the laundry room and looked in the clothes hamper. Nope. Then she looked in the dryer. She reached in and pulled out a sock. "Where on earth did those jeans get to?" she asked herself. Going into the den to get her purse, Maggie glanced at the fire place.
A rush of memories hit her. She now remembered where those jeans where. She hadn't missed them since she disposed of them herself. Those jeans were in the bag of clothes that had blood all over them, and Maggie remembered burning them in the fire place.
Maggie bent down and picked up her purse. She went into her room and zipped up her suitcase and left the room, turning the light out. She went up to the door and grabbing her keys off the hook, she turned the light out exited the house.
Knock, knock, knock. Angelique rose from the couch in the drawing room and went out into the foyer. She passed a few suitcases sitting on the floor and went up to the door. She opened it. "Hello Maggie. I can't thank you enough for coming on such short notice." Angelique stepped aside and let Maggie walk in. "It's no problem. Debby just got back from her vacation and wedding so I don't have to work the counter everyday now." Maggie set her suitcase down. "Which room will I be staying in?" "I had Megan prepare the room across the hall from Rogers for you. She will show you where it is. Come into the drawing room and sit down." Angelique walked into the drawing room and sat down. Maggie followed. "I thought I would warn you Maggie, Roger was at all thrilled about having someone to watch over him like a child. I just want to apologize in advance for anything he might say or do. If he gives you a hard time just ignore him and he will get over it." "Thanks for the warning, but I don't think I'll have a problem with him. I'll just give him some business magazines I brought with me to keep him busy." "He'll love that." Angelique looked over to the doorway just as David entered. "Oh Maggie! Here already! Thank you for coming. I hope father won't give you to much trouble." "Yes, Angelique was just telling me that he may be problematic, but as I told her, I made sure to bring a few business magazines for him to read." "Yes, she was. Well, I hate to run so soon but our plane leaves shortly and if we don't hurry we may miss it." "Of course, I don't mean to tie you up. Have a good time!" Maggie saw David and Angelique out into the foyer and then out the door.
Maggie returned to the drawing room and sat down on the couch. Soon after, Roger entered. "Well, I see you've come. I didn't really believe David or Angelique when they said they were going away. This is such a horrid time to decide they want a vacation given the situation with the business!" Roger huffed, coming in and sitting down. "I'm glad to see you're well," Maggie answered Roger. "Are you really?" "I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't. I've brought you something," Maggie said, opening her suitcase and then handing the magazines to Roger. "I suppose these are to keep me busy, are they?" "I figured that you would probably need something to do with yourself." "Yes, you're right, I do need something to do." Roger opened one of the magazines and began to search through it for an article he could read. "I just cannot understand why they think I needed a baby-sitter. The servants are in the house, are they not? I would be fine with them here." Roger continued to flip the pages of the magazine he was looking at. "I would have done the same thing had you been my father. Now stop complaining! You should be touched that your son and daughter-in-law love you enough to think of you when they go away. I am going to go up to my room. If you need anything, let me know." Maggie left the room and headed upstairs.
Carolyn left Quentin's hospital room and went out into the hall with the doctor. "You already know that his surgery went wonderfully, and I expect him to make a full recovery," Dr. Adams told her. "I feel a 'but' coming soon." "But, I also know you were worried about memory loss, and I can't guarantee that he will have his memory when he wakes up. He may not know who he is, much less you. I just wanted you to be prepared." "Thank you." Carolyn re-entered Quentins room and sat down in the chair to do yet more waiting.
Hours went by and Carolyn sat in the chair beside her brothers bed and willed him to wake up. Talking to him, telling him she loved him and that when he woke up he would tell her everything, that there would be no memory loss at all. Finally, a breakthrough came.
Quentin began to stir. "No! NO! You won't get me! Get away you bastards!" Quentin started yelling. He sat up so fast that he tore his IV out and he started to get out of the bed. "Quentin! Wait! Where are you going? You have to stay here!" "No, no! I have to go! They'll get me! They're everywhere!" Quentin started to pluck off the heart monitor wires. Dr. Adams rushed in. "Keep him away from me! Don't let him come near me! He's one of them! I know it! Everyone is! Everyone is trying to kill me! No! No! I won't let you do it! No!" Quentin punched Dr. Adams arm and knocked the needle out of it. Dr. Adams bent down to pick it up and Quentin hit him over the head and rushed out the door.
Dr. Adams lifted himself off the floor and ran out into the hall after Quentin. Down the hall and into the elevator is where Dr. Adams went. Reaching the second floor, he let the door open and then looked out into the hall. Nothing. The doors closed again and the doctor went to the first floor. The doors opened and Quentin was laying on the floor. A few seconds someone rushed up with a gurney and the man and Dr. Adams put Quentin on it. "Thank you Rob, he's my patient, I'll take it from here." Dr. Adams wheeled the gurney into the elevator and took Quentin back up to the third floor and into his room.
"Doctor, what happened?" Carolyn asked as Dr. Adams hooked the monitors back up to Quentin and a nurse reinserted his IV. "Just a bit of dementia, but it seemed to me that he remembered what happened to him. All those ravings. I am amazed he made it to the first floor. He must've had a lot of strength." "Is that unusual?" "He just came out of surgery yesterday, he shouldn't even want to do something like that." "Is he going to remember any of this? Or anything that happened to him when he wakes up again?" "It's hard to say. It seemed he remembered it today, but tomorrow is a different story."
When the doctor and nurse were finished with Quentin they left the room. Carolyn retook the position in the chair beside Quentin's bed, and started once again wishing for him to wake up, and this time to not be spaced out.
A few hours of waiting brought another development. As Carolyn was sitting and waiting with her head laid down on Quentin's bed, she heard something crash. She looked up to see Quentin looking over the side of the bed. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "QUENTIN! You're awake!" Carolyn screamed, hugging her brother. "Have been for quite some time. It's you who have been asleep." "Do you remember anything?" "Yes, I remember everything. Everything that happened to me." "Well?" "Well what? You mean you want to know?" "Duh! Of course I want to know! I want to help." "Okay. If you want to know I shall tell you. When I left Collinwood, I first went to the south. To Georgia. While there, I bought a house and made a name for myself. About a year after I was living there, weird things started to happen. I felt like I was at Collinwood again. People started mysteriously dying, and there was a frightening pattern to it. Every night that I would go to a bar, someone would die. And they were all killed at the same time – 10 p.m. Someone connected the pattern to my going to the bar and I became a suspect in the murders. But I didn't do them. I was confined to the small town that I was living in. People distanced themselves from me. Hardly anyone but the police would talk to me. I lived alone in that house. I am not really sure what happened to me, but I started to go out of my mind. The police really started suspecting me then." "What did you do?" "I just tried to keep my mind off that. I thought about Collinwood and what was going on there. I tried to stop drinking but I couldn't. Eventually I drank up all the liquor in the house. Once I had done that, I started seeing things." "What sort of things?" "I don't really know. I guess they were hallucinations. Every now and then I would see someone peek into a window or see them walking around in the house. I could tell that they weren't normal people because whenever I tried to chase after them or talk to them they would disappear. I thought maybe it was the ghosts of the house I had bought since the house is very old. I went to the library, a rare feat for me, and researched a bit into the houses past but turned up nothing. "For a while I didn't see them again. But, after a few weeks had gone by, I saw one walking around in my house. I walked after it, and when it turned around, it had the most hideous mask on that I had ever seen. There were no eyes, and when I looked through the eye holes, I saw nothing. The mouth was in a wicked sneering position. I couldn't understand it. I tried to touch the thing, but when I did it disappeared. "From that point on the mask haunted my dreams. I went to the library again, and this time, like the last, I found nothing. I went to see if there was any kind of information on the mask but there wasn't. I kept seeing them over and over and over. Then things got worse." "How so?" "For starters those things kept coming back, and, I started getting the feeling that I was being watched, and it was everyday to. I decided to leave that place, but before I did I went to see the sheriff. I asked him if I had been cleared of the charges against me and he said no. So, I couldn't leave until I was. When I did leave, I still wasn't cleared of the charges but I didn't care because I just wanted to get away. So, I got on a train to travel back up here. When I got off the train I went to stay at a hotel in New York. From that point on, I don't remember anything. I just remember being attacked, I think by one of those things I was seeing at my house in Georgia, and then seeing you just before I passed out at Collinwood. I don't know what I did in New York and I don't know how I got back here."
Carolyn paused and let it all sink in before speaking. "It is all very strange. You didn't arrive with any luggage, and all you said was "they got to me", before you passed out. I guess that whoever 'they' are, they must have captured you or something." "I only know one thing and that is that I have to find out who these people are and what they want of me. They must really need me for something if they followed me all the way back up here." "Either that, or they really want you dead."
Chapter 10
A few days went by. The doctors determined that Quentin was ready to go home, but they told both him and Carolyn that he needed to take it easy for at least a few more days. Maggie and Roger had gotten along famously despite the warnings that Angelique had given him. Angelique and David had been gone for 4 days now, and no one had heard from them. Maggie wondered what they were doing. She hoped they were having a good time and that David had taken his mind away from the troubles at Collinwood.
Carolyn and Quentin returned to Collinwood, and Carolyn told Maggie that she could go back home if she wanted to but Maggie declined. She told Carolyn that she wanted to stay and help out if she could. Maggie had really fallen in love with Collinwood all over again. She had forgotten how enormous the house was and how luxurious. She spent most of her time wandering the house and getting familiar with it once again. Exploring the east and west wings, Maggie found a lot of dust and cob webs. She loved the eloquent antique furniture that had sat in the wings unused for years. Many of the rooms looked like someone had just left. Books left open on desks and beds unmade. Maybe in the times these wings were used the servants weren't very good, Maggie thought.
She had found a book in a room in the east wing that she had become quite involved in during her stay at Collinwood. It was about a girl who moves away from her home town. The town that she moves into has weird people and traditions. Eventually she gets sucked into some sort of twisted murderous plan with the man she had fallen in love with. Maggie stayed up late at night reading the book. She flipped through page after page of the book until she had only a few pages left.
As dawn came over Collinwood, Quentin Collins paced his room. He was trying desperately to remember what had brought him back to Collinwood and how he arrived there. He remembered the doctor telling him to take it easy, which WAS easy for the doctor to say since HE wasn't missing parts of his memory. Quentin felt 100% better the day after he came home, and was ready to get back to normal life.
As he paced his room, Quentin looked at himself in the mirror. He was paler that usual and his hair was messed up. He hadn't slept since he returned home. He just paced back and forth from one side to the next of his room, racking his brain for anything that might trigger a memory. At some points he would sit in the chair beside the gramophone that had been passed down to him from his father, and from his fathers father, and stare at the bottle of brandy that was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, beside a glass. He had a great urge to pick up the bottle and start pouring. He stared into the bottle of brown liquor and watched the candlelight reflect in the glass.
There was one time that Quentin actually poured a drink for himself. It was the night he had gotten home. Carolyn helped him up to his room and told him that if he needed anything to use the in-house phone line to call her room and ask her. He thanked her and once she had left, he locked the door. He walked over to the wardrobe and opened it up to reveal all the clothes from years before that he hadn't taken when he left. He took some of them out and dusted them off, holding them up in front of him and looking in the mirror to see how he looked. Memories rushed into his mind of experiences he had had in each outfit. He remembered the many anonymous women he had slept with in each outfit. He remembered falling for one of those women while on a date with her in another outfit. How he missed her. He dismissed the though as soon as it came to him. "No! She's dead! She can never come back!" Quentin said to himself as he stuffed the suit back into the wardrobe and slammed the door.
Quentin walked over to his roll top desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. He lifted the lid of the desk and saw his former companion sitting there. The bottle of brandy was sitting on the desk top staring back out at him, calling his name. Quentin picked the bottle up and walked over to the middle of the room where he sat the bottle down on the table. He went over to the mantle and picked the dusty glass up. He blew into it and a cloud of dust rose out. Taking a loose end of his shirt in his hand, Quentin wiped the rest of the dust out of the glass. He set the glass down on the table and lifted the lid out of the bottle of brandy. Picking the bottle up and turning it sideways, Quentin filled the glass halfway before putting the bottle back down and placing the lid in it.
Quentin picked the glass up and swiped it back and forth under his nose, taking in the strong fumes of the drink. He held the glass out in front of him. The fire in the fireplace danced in the glass. He once again swiped the glass back and forth under his nose. He remembered how he used to get such a high out of drinking until he dropped. It would be so easy now to just raise the glass to his lips and gulp down glass after glass of this liquid gold and make his troubles disappear. Quentin placed the glass back down on the table and began to pace the room.
He couldn't do it, he just couldn't! Quentin knew it! But it was so easy to lift the glass and down the brandy. So easy to make his troubles and worries disappear, and in a matter of minutes to. He had to do it! He had to! Quentin was never good at dealing with life, and life certainly had not dealt him and easy hand to deal with! This was his one escape. This IS his one escape. Who would know? He would. Who would stop him? No one could.
Quentin picked the glass back up. Taking one last whiff of the magic juice, Quentin raised the glass to his lips. The brandy licked at his lips, desperate to find an entrance to Quentin's mouth. Quentin parted his lips and tipped the glass upwards, allowing the entire glass of brandy slip into his mouth. He held it there, trying enormously hard not to swallow, and not to let the brandy slip down his throat as it had so many times before. He felt a few drops slip down his throat, burning lines into his esophagus as it went down. At the exact moment, Quentin turned and spit the brandy out into the fire, causing it to warm up. He slammed the glass back onto the table so hard it is a wonder that it didn't break.
Quentin ran over to a corner in his room and hunched down in hit. He put his head between his knees. "It was only a few drops," Quentin said to himself. "Yea, a few drops that will lead to a few kegs," he continued. He sat in the corner for a few minutes before he lifted his head and looked at the bottle of brandy on the table beside the glass. He couldn't touch it again. He knew that.
Flash forward. Quentin, one day later, sitting in the chair beside his father's gramophone, staring into the bottle of brandy which was sitting in the exact same place he had left it a day before. He wasn't going to go through the dance routine he had gone through the day before with the glass of brandy. He was either going to drink it, or leave it in the bottle. Decisions, decisions. What would he do? He wanted a full glass, the whole bottle, so badly. But at the same time he knew that if he took one more sip he would be hooked again. He went through rehab just for this purpose, so he could make the right decision and easily. Then why was it so hard?
Quentin rose from his seated position. He walked over to the table and picked up the brandy bottle. Just as he did yesterday, he filled the glass halfway with the brandy and then put the bottle back down. He picked the glass up. He was going to do it this time. He was going to drink that glass. He had wasted his time in rehab. Nobody would ever be able to get him to kick this habit no matter how hard they tried. He lifted the glass to his open and ready mouth. Half of what was in the glass slipped into his mouth. He tried to force himself to swallow it. The brandy just wouldn't go down his throat. He wanted to swallow it but he was stopping himself.
Quentin gargled the brandy in his throat. It felt good swishing around inside his mouth. He finally swallowed the brandy. Drinking the other half in the glass, Quentin poured a whole glass full. He poured the brandy into his mouth out of the glass and swallowed. Before long, Quentin started drinking straight from the bottle. In about fifteen minutes, the entire bottle of brandy was empty.
Quentin began frantically to search his room for another bottle of anything. He didn't care what is was, he was going to drink it. He furiously pulled the drawers from his dresser and desk, dumping them out onto the floor and then sifting through the contents with his foot. Nothing in either piece of furniture. He flipped his mattress over and looked there, throwing the sheeting onto the floor. Nothing. Quentin dropped to the floor and looked under the bed and into the bottom of the box spring. Nothing. Quentin stood up and looked around the room.
He tried to remember if there were any secret places that he used to hide liquor. He went over to his wardrobe and took all the clothes out, throwing them across the room. He looked around the bottom of the wardrobe. There was nothing but shoes. Quentin stood on his tip toes and looked over the top of the wardrobe. Nothing there but dust. Quentin once again dropped to the floor but this time looked under the wardrobe. Nothing their but an old sock which Quentin left lying there. He stood up and walked over to the mantle, placing his hands on the mantle and leaned onto it. He looked up at the painting of a cottage on the sea hanging over top of the mantle. A memory suddenly hit him. Quentin moved the painting aside to reveal a hole in the wall.
Taking the painting off the wall and laying it on the floor, Quentin reached into the hole and felt around. A bottle! Yes! Quentin pulled it out and looked at it. Empty. He threw it behind him and heard it hit a wall. Quentin continued to feel around. He felt farther to the left. There was nothing else. He felt to the right. Another bottle! Quentin pulled it out and read the label. It was Vodka, and a full bottle to! Quentin quickly unscrewed the lid and threw it to the floor. He started gulping down the liquor. Half the bottle was gone when Quentin took the bottle away from his mouth. He took a breath before putting the bottle back up to his mouth. After the whole bottle was downed, Quentin dropped it to the floor. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stuck his hand back into the hole. There was nothing else.
More! More! He had to have more! Quentin went over to the door and slowly and quietly unlocked it. Slowly opening it, the door pushed the clothes laying behind it across the floor. Quentin lightly stepped out of his room and into the hall. He walked down the hallway until he came to another door which he quietly opened. He peeked his head out into the hallway and looked around. Everyone's door was shut and there was no lights on. Quentin sneaked downstairs and into the kitchen. He rumbled through the pantries looking for a bottle of liquor. He found the jackpot! Countless bottles of brandy, cherry, vodka, burban, amontillado, among others. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and stuffed it in one of his pockets. He grabbed a small bottle of amontillado and stuffed that in another pocket. Grabbing a bottle of brandy with his right hand and a bottle of cherry with his left, Quentin shut the pantry doors and left the kitchen.
Reaching his room and entering, Quentin unloaded his booty onto the table with the empty brandy bottle sitting on it. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and downed that first. They the brandy. Then the cherry. Saving the best for last, Quentin picked up the bottle of amontillado and began walking around the room. He started staggering and stumbling. Stumbling into a wall, Quentin fell to the ground and landed on a pile of clothes. He twisted the top off the bottle of amontillado and took a swing. He started giggling like a child. Rehab. Ha! What good did it do him? None! And he told Carolyn it wouldn't but she insisted. Sometimes he thought her a little to wishful for reality. She was always trying to better everyone. Quentin took another swig. He looked at his room. How long would it take him to clean this mess up? With all the liquor he had drank her certainly wouldn't want to do it tomorrow. He was going to have a horrible hangover. Maybe he wouldn't wake up until late in the afternoon. That way he wouldn't have to deal with it so soon.
Lifting the bottle to his lips and downing a huge gulp, Quentin twisted the top back on the bottle and set it down beside him. He had just failed himself and everyone around him and he knew it. Carolyn had been counting on his being sober once he got out of rehab. He told her that he went to bars when he was in Georgia, but he hadn't told her that he had only water. Though he was tempted to have a drink, he forced himself not to order one. It was a sort of self induced rehab.
And now what had he done? Come home and the first challenge that he faced he downed numerous bottles of whatever he could find. Perhaps he could never change. That was what he told the rehab people when he first got there. They told he him he could and would change, but it would be up to him when and if he did. Quentin knew he could if he wanted to, but did he want to? At this moment he didn't, but then again he was drunk out of his mind. Quentin unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a gulp of the amontillado. He struggled to raise himself from the floor and when he had, Quentin staggered over to his bed and fell onto it. The mattress was half leaned up against the wall and when Quentin flopped onto the bed, the mattress slowly slid down under him until it came to rest in a position where half the mattress was on the bed and half was hanging over the side.
Quentin dropped his bottle to the floor and grabbed a pillow. Burying his face in the pillow, Quentin slowly drifted off to sleep. Once asleep, Quentin began dreaming. In his dream, he saw Carolyn standing next to one of those things he kept seeing in his house in Georgia. She seemed like she didn't even notice that the thing was there. They were all standing in a extremely dark room. The only thing Quentin could see was Carolyn and the thing standing beside her. Quentin walked up to Carolyn and she held out her hands in front of her. In each of her hands there was one card. Quentin guess that he had to pick one, so, without any thought whatsoever, he picked the one in her left hand. Unfolding the card, he held it up to his face to read what is said: 'The path you choose is one of many dangers. The people you meet along the way you will remember as nothing but strangers. If you continue with the life you currently lead, then this warning you will not heed: Your life is currently filled with booze, and the more you drink the more you lose. Turn you life around and do it straight away, or else you will soon be facing your dying day.'
Quentin turned around as another sight appeared. A light shone in a part of the room, down on to Quentin standing in front of one of those creatures he saw in Georgia. He thing came at him, and, before Quentin could dodge, stabbed Quentin in the chest. Quentin grasped at his chest and fell to the ground. The creature bent down and began to stab Quentin over and over again in the back. When the creature turned Quentin over, Quentin's eyes were wide with fright.
Quentin woke up screaming. He thrashed around in his bed. When he caught a grasp of what had just happened, he rummaged around on the floor, looking for the bottle of amontillado he remembered dropping before he fell asleep. When he found it, he picked it up and stared into to it for a few seconds. Getting up, bottle in hand, he walked over to the fireplace. Quentin unscrewed the top, and, after throwing it into the fire place, he lifted the bottle up. He looked at it as if her were saying goodbye to a life long friend. Kneeling down in front of the fire place, Quentin began to turn to bottle sideways. He placed the bottle to his lips and quickly drank the amontillado bottle dry, and then tossed it into the fireplace.
Chapter 11
"Quentin? Are you all right?" Carolyn placed her ear up to the door and listened for any sound. "Quentin? Quentin are you even in there?" Carolyn listened again. There was no sound coming from Quentin's room. She tried to the door knob. Still locked. "Damn you Quentin!" Carolyn said, huffing off down the hall.
When she returned, she had a ring of keys in her hand. She picked one out with a big Q written in black marker on the square end of the key, and stuck it in the key hole. Turning the key, she turned the door knob and pushed the door open slowly. The same mess that Quentin had fallen asleep on top of in front of the fireplace and all around the room greeted Carolyn when she walked in. "Took two months to clean it up and he trashes it and one night," she muttered, lightly stepping around the room. She saw Quentin laying in front of the fireplace.
"Quentin? Quentin? QUENTIN WAKE UP!!!!!!!!" Quentin jumped up and then land back on the floor with a start. "What the hell are you yelling for?" Quentin mumbled, rubbing his eyes and then his head. "Well, I see you've switched back to your old ways, and rather quickly at that. I thought it would have taken you at least a week to start this mess up again." Carolyn looked down at Quentin angrily. He had no reply for her. "Well, since you are speechless, I shall make one. You went through rehab and for what? To please me? If that's the case you should have done this somewhere else so I wouldn't find the mess. There are a few bottles of liquor missing from the pantry in the kitchen. Should I alert the authorities or am I staring at the culprit?" "What do ya expect? I had a trying time this past few days, years, whatever, and I needed something to ease the pain." "I don't really believe that. You haven't eased any pain because by looking at you, you are in more pain than you were last night." "You know, you are right about that. I would die for some advil." Quentin picked himself off the floor and tripped over a few things on the floor. "You will not have any advil until pick this room up. I spent two months cleaning the crud and mess out of it after you left, and not just so you could come back and trash it in a quarter of that time." "You sound just like our-" "I know, I know, our mother. I can't help but sound like that. You are still as immature as you were when you were younger. For god sakes Quentin, your 35 years old and I am 44! I should not have to pick up after you anymore!" Carolyn walked out of the room, head held high, and shut the door behind her, locking Quentin in his room. "Look at Ms. High and Mighty," Quentin muttered to himself, laying down on his bed.
In the drawing room, Maggie sat on the sofa reading the morning paper. A familiar headline graced the front page: 'Another Local Girl Murdered: Police Say a Serial Killer May Be On the Loose,'. Maggie just skimmed the article to catch the person's name: Jeremy Skiller. A man this time! After three women had been killed the killer switched to a man.
Maggie looked through the rest of the paper and found nothing to her interest so she set the paper on the coffee table. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, walking over to the bay window. She looked out upon the grounds as the sun slowly rose over the grass, making it shine and twinkle from the thin layer of due laying over it. The leaves on the tree swayed in the wind, and a few of them broke off. Fall was coming and all the leaves would start turning those pretty reds and yellows and oranges that Maggie just adored to look at on a fine fall day. "Good morning," Carolyn said entering the drawing room and breaking Maggies daydreams. "Is it?" Maggie answered, continuing to stare out the window. "What do you mean?" "Well, judging by the screaming that was going on by a person who shall remain nameless," Maggie glanced at Carolyn and started walking over to her, "it isn't." "Oh, you heard that?" Carolyn gave a slight chuckle. "I didn't think I was yelling that loud." "Did you see the morning paper?" Maggie asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of the couch. "No, I-" Carolyn picked up the paper and read the headline. "Oh, that's awful. Another murder! When are the police gonna wise up and catch this madman?" "I don't know. Hopefully it will be before he kills another person."
Carolyn sat down on the couch and began reading the article. "It says here that his girlfriend found him sitting on there front porch with his eyes wide open with terror." Carolyn looked up at Maggie. "What?!" Maggie said, surprised. She suddenly remembered finding Joe dead on her front porch. She could definitely identify with that poor girl. "Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry. I forgot." "It's—it's okay Carolyn, really." Maggie took another sip of her coffee. Carolyn put down the newspaper.
In the foyer, Quentin banged and fumbled down the stairs. Walking like someone had tied puppet strings to his arms and feet, Quentin entered the drawing room and sat down in a chair. He leaned his head back against the back of the chair and started laughing. "What are you laughing about?" Carolyn asked in a stern tone. "You thought you could lock me in, ha ha, but I had a spare key." Quentin continued laughing and didn't lift his head up and look at Carolyn. "Well, next time I'll remember to get that key away from you." "Oh, you know what, screw you! All you do is preach to me over and over again about how I should stop drinking. Why don't you take your sermons and shove them! I can't stop drinking, it's the only companion I've had through the years. Nobody has ever been there to talk with me, everyone was always so preoccupied with everything else! So take your stupid values and your idiotic speeches and eat them for all I care!" Quentin looked at Carolyn with rage while he said this and then he started laughing again. "You know, I think I'm about as full of it as you are!" Quentin said, laughing. "Please Quentin! Let's talk about this later!" "Oh god! We wouldn't want dear sweet Maggie to be in the room to hear what we were saying so she could go and tell the rest of the town what a crappy family we really are! We you know what!? Damn family pride and all that junk! I'm tired of it all!" Quentin said this in a half serious, half laughing voice. He got up and walked that same puppet walk he had walked into the drawing room. He went over to the bar and poured a glass of the brown liquid. "See this?" he said raising the glass. "This is the only salvation I have ever had in my life. So, here's to—here's to my salvation!" Quentin drank it all and then spit it out immediately in front of the doorway. "What the hell is this?" "It's brandy," Carolyn answered. "Well it must've gone bad or something," Quentin said, swaying back in forth. He dropped the glass to the floor and walked out of the room.
Carolyn turned to Maggie. She started laughing quietly. "What's so funny?" "I replaced all the brandy in the brandy bottles with tea!" Carolyn and Maggie started laughing together. They thought of Quentin going into the study and drinking that 'brandy' and spitting it out. The day began to get better. Carolyn asked Maggie not to tell anyone what she had seen at the house while she was staying there. Maggie told Carolyn that she wouldn't tell, and that Carolyn didn't even have to ask her not to.
Maggie arrived home and put her suitcases down in the living room. Her overall stay at Collinwood had been a good one, and Roger hadn't been as much trouble as she thought he was going to be. David and Angelique were still away, and Maggie hoped the were having a good time and that David was spending his time there worrying about the problems that he was going to have when he returned.
Maggie set her purse down on the couch and went over to the inn table where her phone and answering machine were setting. She pressed the message button and the answering machine told her in a computer voice "You have one message,". The machine beeped and the message began playing. At first there was a long period of silence, probably about 20 seconds or so. Then came only breathing, and heavy breathing at that. A few seconds later, a horrifying scream erupted from the machine, so loud that it was sure to explode Maggie's ear drums, so she had to cover her ears. The scream lasted for 30 seconds or so, at which point a most hideous evil laughter could be heard. It was a woman's laughter. The laughter lasted for a short time, and then the voice said "Murder, murder, that's the game. Collinsport will never be the same!" and the laughter started again.
Maggie hurriedly unplugged the machine and fell to the floor. She covered her face, hysterically crying. Who would do this to her, and why would they do it? Maggie couldn't think. She decided after taking a few deep breaths and calming herself down that she would call the police and give them the tape as evidence.
"Is there no damned brandy in the whole of this house?" Quentin screamed aloud as he hastily rummaged through a cabinet in the cellar. He had looked in the pantry, the study, the library, and practically every other room in the house, even going so far as looking in the east and west wings to see if there was any brandy left in any of the bottles that his ancestors drank from years before him. He had found nothing in any place, and would find nothing here either.
"This house! This wretched house!" Quentin screamed, picking up a old wooden crate and throwing it against the cinder block wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He had drank the last of the liquor in the house last night. "But how can that be? There was a ton of other bottles in the pantry then." Quentin thought for a moment. "Carolyn. That witch!" Quentin rushed out of the cellar and up the stairs. He reached Carolyns door and put his ear up to it to listen to see if she was in there. He heard nothing. Placing his hand on the door handle, he slowly twisted it. It began to squeak loudly, so Quentin opened the door and shut it quickly. Roger came out of his room, rolling his oxygen cart behind him. He listened for the noise that had brought him out. He heard nothing. "This old house, always creaking and cracking, making me waste my oxygen," he mumbled, going back into his room and slamming the door.
Quentin looked around in Carolyn's room. The drapes were drawn, so he need not to turn on a lamp. "Where would she hide it?" Quentin asked himself, looking around the room. He started with the dresser, opening drawer after drawer and feeling around in the clothes for any bottles. Nothing. He then bent down and looked under the bed. He felt up inside the box spring. Nothing their either. Next he moved to the closet. He opened the door and turned the overhead light on. There was nothing in there but clothes. Quentin shut the door rather hard, realizing a few seconds after that it may have been a mistake.
Quentin suddenly had a bright idea. The cottage! Carolyn could have taken all the brandy there! No one had lived there for years so it would be the perfect place to hide something like that. Quentin left Carolyn's room and headed down to the cottage. Walking through the woods, the leaves and fallen branches crunched under his feet. He looked up at the sky. Completely clear. No storm clouds whatsoever, which was totally unlike Collinsport. Tonight would be a full moon. How glad Quentin was that he didn't have to go through that awful changing process again, and that he didn't have to come out of it knowing that he had probably committed murder.
Reaching the cottage, Quentin opened the door which had a few pieces of glass missing. He walked inside. Looking around, he saw nothing but cob webs and broken furniture. There were leaves all over the place, and a few of the beams had fallen from the ceiling. Quentin walked into one of the bedrooms and looked around. There was nothing but a bed and the inn tables on either side of it. He walked over to the closet and opened it. Nothing. Quentin went back out into the living room and looked at the fireplace. There was a painting above the fireplace which was leaning to the right. Quentin noticed a bit of light shining through a hole that the painting was not covering. He went over and took the painting off the wall, simply throwing it to the floor. He looked into the hole that was behind it. Jackpot. Full of bottles of brandy, vodka, amontillado, among others.
Quentin took three of the bottles out of the hole in the wall and stuffed them into his pockets. He took another out, this one full of amontillado, and opened it, downing a fourth of it in a gulp. "That's not good for you, you know," a voice came from nowhere. Quentin spun around and looked for its origin. "Who said that?" "I did," said a man draped in a long silver cape that flowed through the air like water through a tube. The man had blonde hair and piercing green eyes. His face was very masculine, his cheek and jaw bones clearly outlined in his skin. "Who are you?" Quentin asked, raising the bottle to his lips. "Ah-ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man said, waving his index finger at Quentin. "Well then it's a good thing you ain't me, isn't it?" Quentin said, tipping the bottle up so that the liquor flowed into his mouth. He quickly spit it out towards the man in the silver cape. The liquid froze in mid air and dropped to the floor when the man held his hand up. "I told you not to do it." "What the hell was that?" Quentin asked, tossing the bottle aside, and it breaking when it hit the floor. "Blood. A taste that you should be used to." "Who are you?" "A friend, or an enemy, depending on you." "Why does everything depend on me? Whether or not a tree gets cut down depends on me anymore." "Everything depends on you because you are the key to everything." "What?" "Here, sit down," the man said, motioning to two chairs that hadn't been there before. They were covered with a red velvet, and when Quentin sat down he thought that they were very comfortable. The man sat down in the chair across from Quentin. "If someone comes by here, they will see us here," Quentin said, taking out a brandy bottle from the inside pocket of his coat. He held it up and looked at it. Suddenly the whole room was bathed in candle light. "Yes, that is blood as well. All the liquor here is." The man stared intently at Quentin, waiting for yet another question. "What is your name?" Quentin asked, dropping the bottle to the floor, it shattering and the blood spilling everywhere. "My name is Andron. I suggest you stop dropping the bottles of blood to the floor." "And why is that?" "Because every time you do, someone in this town looses a pint of blood. It only takes four bottles, depending on the size, to break and kill someone. And, when you've killed all the people whose blood is kept in those bottles, the bottles you break will be of your own blood." "Why?" "It is your curse Quentin." "But Magda placed the werewolf curse on me. I was not cursed to kill people." "Ah, but you were. Everytime you change you kill someone. And, you don't change anymore, at least you didn't for a while.' "What do you mean I didn't for a while? I don't change into that beast at all!" "That's where you are wrong, dear Quentin. Look. Look at the portrait you so carelessly threw to the ground." Andron pointed to the portrait laying on the floor beside Quentins chair. Quentin looked down at it. It was his portrait and it had a huge rip through the center of it!
Chapter 12
"But, but—but that wasn't the portrait I threw to the ground!" "Are you sure? Did you even really look at it? I don't think you did. You were to hell bent on getting another glass of brandy down your throat. And what about those people you have been seeing. Have you seen any of them lately?" "What do you know of them?" "Enough. Enough to tell you who and what they are." "Well?!?! What are they?!?!" "Not now Quentin, perhaps later, after our discussion has progressed a bit further." "Yes! Yes, now! I come here and you show up and suddenly my portrait is the one I threw to the ground when it wasn't before, and all the good liquor that I had been searching for turns to blood. What gives?" "I give. You take. Haven't you heard anything I have said in the short time we have talked? Every drink you have ever put into your body had taken life from someone. You have slowly, but surely, drained about 200 peoples blood from their body. Do you know how that feels? Of course you don't! But you shall, soon enough." "Why do you tell me all these things? You must know I am going to ask questions, and I know that you will not answer them." "I will answer them, but you will not have the answers if you do not pay attention. Now, as I was saying, you have drained the life, slowly, from about 200 people. Every drink you take will drain the blood, the life force from another that you will never know. They are merely good bottles of drink to you, nothing more." "Will I start changing again? Into that horrible beast?" "Yes, you will. You have led a miserable life Quentin, and it is about time you started paying for it." "With what? I have nothing." "Oh, everybody has something. You Quentin, you have a soul. A soul that the devil himself would very much like to get a hold of right about now, which is why I was sent here. Quentin, you must change. Change your ways. I know it will be hard, but it must be done. The more people you kill, the more desirable you will become. Quentin, you are a force. A force which if conquered and consumed, will make whomever has your soul the most powerful being on earth. The most powerful evil being that is." "What am I to do?" "Isn't it obvious? STOP KILLING PEOPLE! Again, I ask, have you not heard one word I've said? You cannot have another drink. I've already told you that with every drink you take, you ingest yet another part of yet another person. You are the only one who has control over this Quentin. Should your essence, your soul, get into the hands of another, should you die, the world will come to an end. Which brings me to the people you have been seeing. They are not imaginary. They are real. They are a society of hunters, employed by the devil, to hunt down immortals and kill them, giving their souls to the devil so he may become stronger. You are currently the most powerful immortal on this earth." "Does this all have to fall upon my shoulders?" "Yes. It does. Now listen. You must not be killed by the hunters. They must not have your soul. You must stop your self destruction for good! You will be forever inflicted with your werewolf curse, and nothing can stop you from changing. But, you can stop yourself from killing others. You have done it before, you can do it again. Listen to my warning Quentin, and heed it! Your life depends upon it! Your...life...depends...upon...it! Your.......life...........depends.........upon........i.......t!" Andron had disappeared.
Quentin looked around. He screamed for the man to come back. "Andron! Andron! Come back! Tell me more!" He kept looking around. Carolyn walked into the cottage. "Quentin have you been drinking again? I hid all the liquor so you wouldn't find it, but it seems you have." Carolyn had that 'tsk, tsk' look. "No, I haven't been drinking." "Quentin, how can you lie to me when your upper lip is stained red?" "That's blood." Quentin looked around the room to see if any of the bottles he had thrown about and had broken were still there. They weren't. "Blood? Are you hurt?" "No, no. I'm fine," Quentin said softly. He was still trying to sort out the things that Andron had said to him. He ironically needed a drink. "Let's go back to Collinwood." Quentin walked around Carolyn and out of the cottage.
Knock, knock, knock. Maggie looked up from the magazine she had been trying to read to keep her mind off of the message on her answering machine. She put the magazine down on the couch beside her, and got up. She walked over to the door where she put her hand on the knob and asked "Who is it?" "It's Sheriff Winfield." Maggie waited for a moment and then unlocked the door. "Thank you for coming sheriff. Please, come in." Maggie stepped aside and let him in before closing and locking the door behind him. "So what is this about a message left on your machine?" "I came home from staying at Collinwood and I checked my messages. I had only one message, so I played it. At first there was nothing but silence. Then there was heavy breathing. Then horrible screaming! Then there was laughter! The most haunting laughter! Then, the person on the other end said 'Murder, murder, that's the game. Collinsport will never be the same!' and started laughing again!" Maggie became hysterical as she explained what had happened. The sheriff went over to calm her. "Calm down Ms. Evans, calm down. May I listen to the message?" "Yes," Maggie said, pointing to the machine. She was afraid of it, afraid to go near it or even touch it. The sheriff pushed the play button. "You have one message," the machined said in the same computerized voice. "Message one," the message started playing. Maggie covered her ears.
There was silence, just like before. Then there was a heavy breathing, like someone was hyperventilating because they were frightened. Then came heavy sobbing and a light scream. The sobbing continued for the whole message. The machine cut off and said "End of messages." The sheriff turned to Maggie who had her ears covered, and who was lightly humming so she wouldn't have to hear the message over again. "Uh, Ms. Evans?" Maggie didn't hear him. "Ms. Evans!?!!?" Maggie lightly jumped and let her hands fall from her ears. "Are you sure this is the message you described to me?" "Yes, yes I'm sure. It was horrible!" "Um, Ms. Evans, the message I listened to was not the one you described to me." "What? Are you sure? How can that be?" "Yes, I am sure. The message I heard had silence first, then heavy breathing like you described, but then there was sobbing and a light scream. The sobbing continued until the message ended." "That can't be possible! The message that I described is on there, it has to be!" Maggie walked over to the machine and hesitated for a moment before touching the play button. The machine repeated the same message it had before when the sheriff had listened to it. When the message was finished playing, Maggie looked shocked. "That's my reaction to the message when I heard it. Can't that be used? Certainly it should prove that there was a message." "Well Ms. Evans, it does hint that there was a message, but it would never hold up as hard evidence. You could have been crying over anything on that tape. I'm sorry." The sheriff walked over to the door. Maggie looked appalled. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It simply wasn't possible. Although, she should have known that in Collinsport anything was possible. "Thank you for coming sheriff," Maggie said flatly, still searching her mind for a reason to what had happened. The sheriff unlocked the door and let himself out. Maggie dropped to the floor, leaning against the back of the couch. She desperately tried to put two and two together to make four, but the addition wasn't working. There was no sound reason that the message should have been deleted. She didn't delete it. The power hadn't gone out. No one else had been there since she had gotten home—she had sat right beside the machine until the sheriff arrived. Unless, unless someone she couldn't see deleted the message. A ghost? No. Wouldn't she have felt its presence? Maggie's mind filled with hundreds of questions, and she would spend much of night trying to figure them out.
Quentin and Carolyn had returned to Collinwood and sat in the drawing room. She knew something was wrong with him, but he was reluctant to tell her what it was. She tried to get him to slip up and tell her something, something she could use to figure out what was wrong with him on her own. "Quentin, something happened to you at the cottage, didn't it?" Carolyn inquired, staring at him. "How many times do I have to tell you no? Which letter don't you understand?" Quentin had grew tiresome of her questions about 20 questions ago. "Quentin, there is no use lying to me. I know something happened to you at the cottage. When I came in you looked confused, like you were trying to figure something out. Now tell me what is bothering you. You know you can trust me." Carolyn looked with pleading eyes at Quentin. He hesitated for a moment. "I...I.." he started, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. Carolyn looked annoyed as she got up and walked over to the phone, picking up the receiver.
"Hello?" "Ms. Stoddard? This is Sheriff Winfield." "What can I do for you sheriff?" "Nothing, thank you. I have called because I have some news about your cousin and his wife" "About David?" "Yes. His flight went down over Virginia. I don't have much information beyond that. The authorities down there don't think anyone survived. I'm sorry." Carolyn's face dropped. She didn't say anything for several seconds. "Thank—thank you sheriff." Carolyn hung up. She walked over to the couch and sat down, stunned.
"Carolyn, what happened?" "David's....David's plane went down over Virginia. The authorities don't know if anyone survived or not." Carolyn dropped her head between her legs and into her hands. "Oh my god," was all Quentin could say. "I'll have to go down there to claim the bodies." "If they are dead, Carolyn. We don't know that they are yet." "I know, I know. I'm going up to pack." Carolyn left the room, tears running down her cheeks. A short time later, Carolyn was gone.
Quentin sat alone in the drawing room. He busied himself be thinking about what Andron had said to him earlier at the cottage. A few new questions brewed in Quentin's mind about Andron. Like, what was he? Where did he come from? Why was he helping a lost cause like Quentin? Quentin wondered if what Andron had told him about drinking and it taking away other people's blood was true. Could it have just been something that would make Quentin stop drinking? If so, why did Andron tell Quentin something as drastic as that? Why didn't Andron tell him that if he didn't stop that he would die? Did Andron think that Quentin didn't care about his own life enough to save it?
All these thoughts passed through Quentin's head at the speed of light, coming in one side and going out the other. Quentin dropped his head into his hands. What he wouldn't give for a drink right now, and to be able to drink it without thinking that he may or may not be killing someone. Quentin looked up, and on the table in front of him sat a glass of brandy. It hadn't been there before, so how did it get here? Quentin knew how. "Andron! This is a test isn't it! I know it is! You knew I was thinking that I wanted a drink so you provided me with one, didn't you?!? Well, I won't drink it! I won't! I am going to past this test!" Quentin got up and picked up the glass of brandy. He walked over to the fireplace. He was going to throw it in, but something stopped him. He raised the glass until it was under his nose, and he sniffed the brandy. It smelt so good. If only he could drink it. "Oh no! I'm not going to do it! You lose!" Quentin threw the glass into the fireplace, causing it to flare up and turn a unlikely shade of green. Quentin dusted his hands off, feeling quite proud of himself.
With a huge grin on his face, he looked up to the ceiling and said "You see? I passed this test, and I will pass every other one you put before me!" For some reason Quentin felt the need to show Andron up. Typical male competition. Quentin turned around and went back to the chair he was sitting in before and sat down. He looked at the table where the brandy glass had been before. Suddenly, the same brandy glass slowly appeared before Quentin's eyes!
"Oh no. You think just because I didn't drink the first one, I will drink the second one? Well, you're wrong!" Quentin got up and threw that glass into the fireplace, turning the fire the same green it had before. When Quentin turned around, the brandy glass was sitting on the table once again. He went through the same process again, the fire turning the same green it had turned the previous two times. He did this three more times, each time the fire turning green like it had before. When he turned around, after having done it for a seventh time, the glass was on the table again.
"You know what? Fine! I'll drink this wretched brandy, and then what will you do? Hmm? What will you do then? You're the smart one here, so tell me!" Quentin paused, waiting for an answer that wouldn't come. "Fine! Have you damn way!" Quentin picked the glass up and raised it to his mouth. He let the brandy lick at his lips before parting the gates and letting the brandy flow through. When Quentin had downed half the glass, Roger entered the drawing room, oxygen tank handle in one hand, business section of the paper in the other. "Indulging ourselves in a late afternoon drink are we?" Roger said, parking his cart by the couch. "Mmmhmm." Quentin said, finishing the glass. "I thought you had quit drinking," Roger told Quentin, putting his paper down on the couch, but remaining standing. "Well, old habits die hard I guess," Quentin replied, directing the comment more at Andron than at Roger. Quentin sat down in the chair and set the empty brandy glass on the table in front of him. Roger stepped in front of the couch. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side and then grasped the side of the couch, trying with what little strength he had to hold himself up. "Roger? Roger are you all right?" Quentin stood, and looked worried. What was happening to him? Roger suddenly fell to the floor.
Quentin went over to Roger and shook him, trying to get him to wake up. He wouldn't. "Don't die on me now Roger! Don't die!" Quentin continued to shake him, trying to wake him up. There was no response. He felt for a pulse.