Chapter 13
Quentin felt for a pulse. There was none. He turned Roger over so that he was laying on his back and started CPR. Quentin pushed on Rogers chest, one hand on top the other and interlocked, five times. Then Quentin blew air into his mouth. He repeated this process over and over and over again, until he would get a reaction. Quentin felt for a pulse again. Roger had one, but had not waken up. Quentin hurried over to the phone and dialed 911, waiting frantically for the operator to pick up on the other end.
When the ambulance arrived, Quentin told the paramedics that Roger had just dropped down to the floor. He told the paramedics that Rogers heart had stopped and that Quentin did CPR on him and got a pulse back. The ambulance took Roger to the hospital, and Quentin stayed at Collinwood. "You were trying to prove something to me, weren't you?" Quentin yelled to the ceiling, walking back into the drawing room. "Yes, I was," came Andron's voice from behind Quentin. Quentin quickly spun around. "You knew that I doubted what you said about every time I drink I take away a portion of someone's life, didn't you? "Yes, I did." Andron walked around Quentin to stand in front of the fireplace. "Isn't it funny how one little glass of brandy," at this point the glass appeared on the table again, "can cost someone so much." "Why did it have to be Roger? Why him? He was on deaths door anyway." "If I had of had it happen to someone you didn't know, you would have never known that what I said was true, now would you?" "Is Roger going to die?" "I can't be sure. You are right, he was on deaths door. Judging by how he immediately fainted when you drank the brandy, I estimate that he had only a few days left. Don't feel guilty if he dies. He was going to die soon anyway." "So that gives you the right to take his life from him a few days to early?" "You see, that's where you're wrong. It doesn't give me the right, it doesn't give anyone the right. But you drank the brandy, so you are the one who, if he dies, has taken his life away from him a few days to early, not me." "You irresponsible bastard!" Quentin yelled, arms outstretched, intending to wrap them around Androns throat. Andron quickly disappeared and reappeared behind Quentin. "Wrong again, Quentin. I am not the irresponsible one, you are. I am simply here to show you what you have been doing to people for nearly 100 years. The truth hurts, doesn't it Quentin?" "You'll pay for this." "No, you will pay for this. Others who suffer because of you will pay for it, but not me. Now, I suggest to head to the hospital, Roger is due to take a turn for the worse." Andron disappeared. Quentin looked around the room. "Andron! ANDRON!" Quentin yelled. There was no answer. Quentin checked his pockets for his car keys, and when he was sure he had them, he rushed out the door.
Scottsville, Virginia
Carolyn waited in the hospital for a nurse to come back from the nurse's station. Carolyn had flew down there and found out as much as she could. Of the 78 people on the plane, 70 had died, and only 7 had survived. One body was still missing. Carolyn decided that she should first go to the hospital, to see if David and Angelique were there, and if they weren't, they had to be dead. The nurse returned with a clipboard. She told Carolyn to follow her to the intensive care unit.
Once there, the nurse pointed out the 7 beds that the survivors were laying in, and told her that some of them were pretty gruesome looking and that she may not be able to identify them if they were who she was looking for. Carolyn ignored the nurse, and checked the beds, one by one. The first one wasn't David or Angelique, nor was the second, nor the third. The occupant of the fourth bed was burned on his or her face, but Carolyn was pretty sure that it wasn't David or Angelique. The occupant of the fifth bed had blonde hair, but the woman had bandages over her face. Carolyn thought that this could be Angelique, but after checking for a very noticeable wound scar on the underside of the woman's left arm, Carolyn was convinced it wasn't her. The sixth bed wasn't occupied at all, and when asked, the nurse told Carolyn that person had died. Carolyn came upon the seventh bed, praying in her mind for it to be either David or Angelique. Pulling back the curtain, Carolyn let out a yelp of pleasure at seeing her cousin David laying in the bed, nearly unharmed.
David had a cast on his right arm, and a bandage on his forehead. Other than that, and a few scrapes and bruises, he was perfectly fine. Carolyn told the nurse that this was her cousin, David Collins, and the nurse marked it down on the clipboard before walking away. Carolyn pulled a chair up beside the bed and took his left hand in her right and held it, tears of joy running down her face. David slowly opened his eyes, recognizing his cousins warm touch. "David! You're alive!" Carolyn said, kissing his cheek. "Yes, and mostly unharmed, lucky for me," David muttered. He tried to sit up, but winced in pain, figuring he probably had a few broken ribs. "Angelique, do you know where she is?" "She isn't in one of those beds?" "No." David closed his eyes, a few tears slipping out from under his eye lids. "She's dead. I know it." "How do you know? She could be at another hospital. They may have more survivors than previously thought." "No. She is dead. I saw her die." "You what?" "I...I saw her die." David shuddered and opened his watery eyes. "Oh David, I'm so sorry." "She saved my life. She pushed me into the bathroom of the plane, there was only room for one!" David began to sob uncontrollably. Carolyn held him in her arms, letting him cry all he wanted. When he had stopped, he looked at her. "The plane hit a-" "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to David," Carolyn said, looking at him with her caring eyes. "I want to talk about it. The police have to know what happened. The plane hit something in the air, I don't know what it was. It sent our plane into a tailspin, and everyone flew out of their seats, going from one end of the plane to the other. Angelique and I tried to get back to the bathrooms, and when we did, there was only room for one in the bathroom. We heard a boom, and Angelique......." David stopped and started crying again. It was amazing he had been able to get that far. "We can talk about it later, David. Please, just rest." "NO! I want to tell you! Angelique pushed me in. She told me she loved me and that she would see me again someday. Then she shut the door." David finished and started sobbing again.
In Collinsport, Quentin is at the hospital, waiting for a nurse to return with news of Roger. Little did Quentin know that the news wouldn't be good. The nurse came around the corner. "Quentin Collins?" she asked, looking at Quentin. "Yes?" "I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Roger Collins has died. We did everything we could to try and resuscitate him, but we couldn't get him back. On the way here he went into cardiac arrest, and the EMS team was unable to revive him. The estimated cause of death was blood loss. Again, I'm sorry for your loss." The nurse looked at Quentin who looked completely dumbfounded, and then walked away.
Quentin just sat there. He couldn't believe what he was saying. He had to leave Collinwood. The curse that had been set upon the grounds more that 200 years ago had just struck again. Finally, Quentin rose from his seat and walked down the hall to the ICU. He went through the double doors and looked into the different rooms for Roger. When he found him, Quentin went into the room.
Roger was the only one in the room besides Quentin. There were latex gloves laying all over the floor, as well as sterile gowns that the doctors and nurses had wore when they were still working on him. There was a tube down his throat, and two pieces of tape holding it in, one on each side of his mouth. Rogers skin was extremely pale and Quentin hated the site of Rogers lifeless body laying in front of him.
Tears streamed down Quentin's face, and with the back of his hand he quickly wiped them away. There was nothing he could do for Roger now, so there was no reason to stay. Quentin knew what he had to do. He had to find Andron and make him pay for what he had done.
When Quentin got back to Collinwood, he walked into the drawing room and yelled for Andron a few times. When he got no answer, Quentin thought of the next logical answer for contacting a spirit in Collinwood-a séance. Quentin got a candle and placed it in the middle of the table that the brandy glass had appeared on earlier when Andron was taunting him. Quentin then pulled a chair up closer to the table and turned out the lights. Lighting the candle, Quentin sat down in the chair and put his hands on the table, making sure that they touched and that the candle was in the circle he had formed. Quentin concentrated on finding Andron. "Spirits, I call forth one by the name of Andron. It is not known what he is or is not. I call him forth from wherever he may be at this time, to come here, to this room and make contact with me. Andron, come from hell or heaven. Come from the far reaches of the universe. Wherever you currently may be, I command you to come to me now! I command you in the name of Roger Collins, only one of your probable many victims. Come here and make your presence known!"
Quentin waited a few seconds. Outside the wind howled, and an unlikely clap of thunder was heard—the sky had been clear today. Suddenly, Quentin's shoulders scrunched up and his eyes became fixated on one point on the ceiling. His eyes turned a dark green, he was in a trance. In his mind, flashes of pictures from another time or place swiftly moved. He saw Roger in the hospital bed, dead. He saw and explosion in the village. He saw fire, fire that burned the village to the ground, that consumed Collinwood and turned its luxury to nothing but ashes. He saw himself, trapped in a room, trying to get out. He couldn't. The room was becoming consumed by fire so quickly. Quentin caught fire. The fire licked at his pants leg and then began traveling up it. Quentin screamed in pain as the heat seared his skin. He tried to pat it out with his hands, but when he couldn't, he quickly took off his shirt and tried to pat it out with that. It wasn't working. Next he saw Carolyn, standing at a group of graves. The gravestones could not be seen. When Carolyn moved aside, Quentin read them clearly: Roger Collins 1935-1997. Angelique Collins 1955-1997. David Collins 1955-1997. And finally, Quentin Collins 1897-1997.
Quentin heard himself screaming. His trance was broke and his eyes turned from the dark green they had been, back to the baby blue that entranced the ladies. The candle wasn't on the table, and when Quentin looked for it, he saw it laying at his feet. He noticed that the bottom of his pants were seared, some spots even burned through. Had what he saw been wrong? Had Quentin caught fire just now? Quentin knew he did. But what was all that stuff that he saw in those visions? Was it the future? Was it what was to happen to Collinwood should he not change, or did something else have to be done to prevent that horrible disaster?
As Quentin thought about all these things, he didn't notice that Andron was sitting on the couch in front of him. Andron patiently waited for Quentin to stop asking himself questions, all of which Andron heard in his own mind as well. Quentin looked up and jumped at seeing Andron there. Andron didn't have his normal cape on, and Quentin finally got a good look at him. Short, brown hair, combed to the right. Baby blue eyes, just like Quentin had, that seduced the ladies when they looked into them. Strikingly good looks, that Quentin was sure that he had seen somewhere before. Mutton chops on his cheeks.
Andron was dressed in period clothes, probably from the 19th century. It took Quentin a while to put two and two together. It was as if he was looking into a mirror! Andron looked just as Quentin had in 1897!
Chapter 14
Maggie Evans was walking down the streets of Collinsport. She seemed to be the only one out at this time of night, but she had reason to be. There had been another murder, and this time it had been at the Collinsport Inn. Maggie had driven in her car most of the way, but a ways down the road from the Inn it had run out of gasoline, for Maggie had forgotten to fill it earlier during the day.
Reaching the Inn, Maggie entered to see a group of police officers and yellow tape all over the place. Maggie approached the sheriff and tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh! Ms. Evans, you gave me a start." "Sorry sheriff. Why is all this here? What have you called me down here for?" Maggie asked, eager to hear the answers. The sheriff had been vague on the telephone. "Ms. Evans.... there has been another murder. A Ms. Cathy Walker has been murdered. She was a customer here, was she not?" Maggie took a few seconds to answer. This all came as such a shock to her. One of her own occupants, murdered! "Uh, yes-yes she was," Maggie finally blurted out. "Where is the body?" Maggie asked, still in shock. "At the foot of the stairs," the sheriff gestured over to where the stairs were. Maggie looked around the men and saw a body, covered with a sheet, laying there. "We believe she was attacked in her room and she tried to get away when the attacker pushed her down the stairs. The fall killed her." Maggie looked at the sheriff, wide-eyed. She could barely stutter words out of her mouth. "Ca-Cathy." Maggie said. Tears started streaming down her face. "Ms. Evans, come, sit down here." The sheriff led her over to a table in the diner and sat her down in one of the chairs. "We are going to have to ask you some questions, Ms. Evans. Do you feel up to them now, or would you like to wait?" The sheriff hoped she wouldn't force herself to answer the questions now.
Maggie didn't answer for a couple minutes. She looked at the sheriff and then opened her mouth, not making any sound. Her eyes looked like fear unleashed, and she could hardly keep her composure. All the while she was thinking about why all these murders had to happen. And why did this one have to happen at her Inn? She was sure the Inn would be closed for weeks for the police investigation. "Ms. Evans, you can answer the questions some other time. Why don't you go home and lie down. Is there anyone we can call for you?" Maggie looked up at the sheriff. "NO! I am going to answer the questions! I'm not gonna let that sick man get to me! What do you need to know!?" The sheriff looked shocked. "All right Maggie. How long had Ms. Walker stayed here?" "She had been here for four days." "Do you know of anyone that may have had a grudge against her?" "No. She never talked about her personal life. She just told me that she was here on vacation." Maggie kept her composure, determined not to breakdown and let the killer get to her again. "That's a bit odd." "That's what I said." A tear fell down Maggie's cheek, which she quickly wiped away. "Is there any reason that would make you think this was a suicide?" "No, she was a very upbeat person the few times I talked to her." The sheriff wrote a few notes in his pocket notebook then looked up at Maggie. "Thank you Ms. Evans, that's all we'll be needing for now. Is there anyone we can call?" "Yes. Yes. Call John Crosic."
A half hour later, John Crosic pulled up outside the Inn, fearing that Maggie had been killed. When he came inside and saw her standing in the lobby, he ran up to her, hugged her, and kissed her. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said, pulling her close. "Mr. Crosic, would you take her home? She needs to rest." "Of course. Come on Maggie." Crosic lead Maggie out and put her into his car. After fastening his seat belt, they sped off to Maggies house.
On the way home, they said nothing to each other. John could see that Maggie was shaken up, and he figured there had been another murder. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but then was afraid that she would breakdown again. So, he didn't ask her until they were almost to her house. "Maggie, are you okay?" "What? Oh. Oh yes, I'm-I'm fine." She said nothing after that. She was extremely tired.
Maggie reached down on the right side of the seat and pulled a lever, which caused the seat to lean backwards. Maggie turned on her side and closed her eyes. Draping her arm over the side of the seat to rest in the floor behind Crosic's seat, Maggie closed her eyes. Her hand had fallen into something wet. Maggie felt around and when she opened her eyes, she saw that a shirt was laying behind the seat. Maggie lifted her hand up and looked at it. Her fingertips were red.
Maggie screamed in horror. John was the killer! Maggie knew it! John looked at Maggie, wondering what she had screamed about. He kept his eyes on her, and asked her what was wrong. "You are the murderer! You are!" Maggie screamed at him. She sat up quickly in her seat and fumbled with her door knob, trying frantically to get the door open. She had to get away from him. She knew he was going to kill her now that she knew!
Maggie looked out in front window. She screamed "Watch out!!!!!" John looked in front of the car. There was a woman standing there, in the middle of the road. John swerved, slamming the breaks. Maggie let out a horrifying scream as did John before....
Quentin stared wide-eyed at the scene before him. He and Andron hadn't spoken one word to each other. Andron was full and ready to talk, but he figured he should wait for Quentin to snap out of the shock. "You-you-you are me!" Quentin said, finally breaking free. "No, I am no one." Quentin stood up and walked over to stand in front of Andron. "What do you mean!" "I mean that I am no one. I am nothing but a spirit, floating about, able to take whatever form I wish. I chose to look like you, so I do. That is all." "What are you trying to tell me?" "This is how you used to be." "What do you mean? That is how I am. I haven't changed!" "Wrong. You have changed. You are no longer the man you were when you looked like this. You are different now." "I am not! I am the same person! I still drink! You saw what I did to Roger." "Yes, I did see. But that doesn't mean that you haven't changed, because you have. You have seen that what I say is true. That you are killing people whether you like it or not." "What did those visions mean? Why did I see them?" "They were simply a glimpse of what is, or was, to come. That is not going to happen anymore. You have changed now, so has the future of the world. You hold the fate of everyone within your hands, whether you know it or not. When we previously talked, you asked me if you were going to change into the wolf again, and I answered yes. I am here now to warn you that tomorrow is the first time you will change." "How can I stop it?" "You cannot stop it. Until you have proven that you have the side of you that is the wolf controlled, you will not stop changing." "How do I do that?" "You must keep yourself from the rest of the world when you change. The hunters will come after you while you are the beast for when you are in that state of mind, of body, that is when your soul is worth so much. If they manage to obtain you, they will kill you. You must not allow that to happen. If it does, the devil will return and apocalypse will overrun the earth. He has already gotten to one immortal in this town, all he needs is you." "Who is the immortal he has already?" "Angelique. She chose to sacrifice herself for her husband, so she was less valuable to the devil. He still took her soul, but her soul alone could not bring him back to being the ruler of the earth. You are the final installment, the final goal." "I will not drink anymore." "You needn't tell me that. I already know. I knew that when you saw how Roger died because of you that you would never touch the liquor again. That is not your problem any longer. Now you must conquer the uncontrollable side of you. Once you have managed to force yourself to stop changing, the wolf and the curse upon you will be broken. You will, however, still be valuable to the devil. I will not lie to you, Quentin. The process will not be easy, nor will it be painless. You must learn to draw the evil part of you that is the wolf from your body." "How am I to do that?" "I am only permitted to give you one hint." Andron paused. He rose from the couch and walked over to a mirror, keeping his back to it. "There is a potion, which if drunk will rob you of your inner wolf. Only if a spell is recited while you are drinking this potion will the wolf be drawn out of you. To find this spell, look for one whom is confined to a canvas." Andron turned around and looked into the mirror. "No wonder you used to do whatever you wanted. What with these good looks, who wouldn't?" Andron examined himself in the mirror. Quentin looked down to the floor and smirked. When he looked up, Andron was gone.
Chapter 15
Quentin looked around the room, searching for Andron. He didn't see him. Sitting down on the couch, Quentin thought about how he could control the wolf side of him. He knew he would have to lock himself up to keep himself from killing anyone, but he didn't know what he would do beyond that. Quentin stood up and walked over to the bar where he poured himself a drink. Just before lifting it to drink it, he realized that he couldn't do it. He had to break himself of that habit. Quentin put the brandy glass back down and left the room.
Moments later, Quentin arrived in his own room in the west wing. He sat in the chair, trying to think where he could chain himself up. 'The Old House,' he thought. 'No one ever goes there. It will be perfect!' Quentin rose from his chair and went over to his wardrobe where he removed a board on the inside floor. Reaching into the hole, Quentin felt around for the shackles that he knew were there. Once he had found them, he pulled them out and put the board back over the hole. He placed the shackles on the table and knew that tomorrow night, he would chain himself up in the basement of the Old House.
Maggie Evans opened her eyes and looked around. She saw John sitting next to her in the car. They had skidded to a halt before hitting the tree in front of them, and they both had been thrown forward and had hit there heads on the dashboard. Maggie reached her hand up and felt her forehead. There was blood there. She looked over at John again. Her was out cold. This was her chance to get away. She slowly and quietly opened the car door and stepped out onto the ground. After checking that John was still unconscious, she took off running down the road.
Should she go home or would he look for her there? That was the closest place to where the car had crashed, and she could go and call the police there. They would come and arrest him. She knew that is where she had to go. Her house wasn't but a three minute walk from where they had crashed, so she quickly got there. When she reached her house, she patted the sides of her dress, hoping her keys were there. They were! Maggie quickly unlocked the door and went in, locking the door again behind her. She picked up the phone and dialed 911.
"911 emergency response," the operator answered. "Oh my god! Please! Send someone out here quick! I think I have the murderer! He tried to drive me home but we crashed and he is unconscious! Please! Hurry!" "Calm down ma'am. Now, where are you?" "My house! Uh-uh 55558 Sycamore Avenue. Hurry!" Maggie waited for the operators reply, but before it came, there was a bump outside and Maggie screamed before dropping the phone. She looked out the windows from where she was standing behind the couch. There was nothing but darkness. The moon's light was very little tonight, and although Maggie was standing in darkness in her house, she still couldn't see much through the windows. Over at the bay window Maggie saw a shadow pass out of the corner of her eye. She screamed again and ran into her bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.
Hunkering down in the corner beside the bathtub, Maggie didn't turn on the light because then she knew that John would know where she was. She heard him call her name from outside, and whimpered at the thought of what he would do to her. She tried to remain as quiet as she could, though her heavy breathing and occasional whimper would have given her away instantly. Out in the living room, she heard a bang on the door. A few seconds later she heard another bang on the door and then another. Finally, she heard one more bang and the it sounded like the door had fallen to the ground. She heard footsteps out in the living room, and figured that it was John. Maggie quietly whimpered again. "Maggie? Maaaagggieee?" he said in a voice that sounded sinister to Maggie. She just knew that he was going to kill her. "Maggie please come out. I just want to be sure you're okay. I know you must be shaken up with the wreck and all, and I don't know what happened to you when you screamed before the wreck but I want to help." Maggie remained where she was. She was waiting for him to come into the bathroom. "Maggggiieeee!!! MAGGIE WHERE ARE YOU!!??!" John screamed, becoming impatient now. He hoped she wasn't dead so he could get to her.
Suddenly the door knob on the bathroom door started rattling. "Maggie, I know you're in there because the door is locked. Just open the door and we can talk about whatever it is that frightened you. Please Maggie, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" John screamed. Maggie whimpered, confirming that she was in there. John backed up and kicked the door in, causing it to swing extremely fast on its hinges and hit the wall, the door knob busting a hole in it. "There you are Maggie! Now, let me help you." John started walking towards her.
At Collinwood, Carolyn helped David through the doors and into the drawing room, sitting him on the couch. He was still pretty sore, but he was okay nonetheless. The cast on his arm was still there, but the bandage that had been on his forehead was now gone, only a scar remained. After sitting David on the couch, Carolyn went back through the foyer and closed the door. "Quentin! QUENTIN!" she yelled through the house. After a few minutes waiting, Quentin opened the door and walked out onto the landing. "Oh, Quentin. Would you mind taking David's things up to his room? They're to heavy for me and David can't carry them." "Fine." Quentin walked down the stairs and picked up the bags. Then he turned to Carolyn. "If you need anything else I will upstairs." "Thank you." Carolyn looked at her brother, noticing the huge change in him since she left. He seemed more polite, more in control. Quentin carried the bags upstairs.
After putting David's bags in his room, Quentin headed to the West Wing to his own room. When he entered, the shackles he had left on the table greeted him. "A bit extreme, don't you think?" "No, I don't," Quentin answered, turning around already knowing that Andron was there. This time he looked like the evil werewolf beast that Quentin had never seen. It spooked him. "Is that what I look like when I change?" said Quentin, shakily. "Yes, but do not be afraid of it for fear will be your downfall.." Andron changed into a man with blonde hair and a bony face. "So you plan to chain yourself up in the Old House basement when the time comes?" "Yes. What of it?" Quentin was growing tired of Andron visiting him whenever and telling him what to do. "Nothing. It is a way to keep yourself from hurting anyone, but there is another way." "Yes, I know. The potion." "No, not the potion. It is true that you can drink the potion and that will take away the wolf, but that can only be drunk while in wolf form, and after the first time you have changed. So you see, you cannot use the potion now. If you do not wish to chain yourself up, and I know you do not, then simply take a tranquilizer pill before you change." "Why are you helping me?" "Because if you end the world, the world ends me. There will be no one who will be truly alive. Everyone will be dead but their spirits will remain. It is all very confusing, and I haven't the time to tell you now. I am not even supposed to be here, but I take pity on you. Quentin, there are many out there who loved you once, make them proud by doing something good for a change." "I am still going to chain myself to the wall." "That is your choice. I was simply offering you an alternative." "So you just came to tell me that. I could've figured that out on my own." "Well lets not seem ungrateful here. That is not all I have come to tell you. The real reason I am here is to warn you of something that may happen to you while you are chained up as the beast." "Which is?" Quentin asked, growing impatient. "All things in time, Quentin. All things in time. Until that time I suggest you think about where you are going to put yourself when you change." "The Old House basement, but you already knew that." Quentin took a seat in a chair, wishing that Andron would simply get to the point. "Yes, I know that you WERE going to lock yourself up there, but I do hope you will find a new place." "For what reason?" "If you must know then I will tell you know even though I am not permitted to." "Well who the hell permits you what you can and cannot tell me. To hell with them, just tell me what you need to tell me and let me prepare for what I have to do." "The devil hunters will come for you tomorrow night when you change. When you lock yourself up in the cellar of the Old House, they will know you are there and they will kill you once you have changed form. That is why I asked you to find another place to put yourself. They are less likely to find you should you pick another place to chain yourself up." Quentin looked alarmed. "Is there anything else I can do to protect myself?" Quentin asked, hoping the answer would be yes. "Yes, there is," said Andron, and Quentin sighed relief. "Pour a circle of salt around your before you chain yourself up. Be sure to mix the salt with crumpled garlic and poppy leaf for this will drive the devil hunters away. This is all I ca—"Andron stopped in mid sentence. He fell to the floor. Quentin wondered what was happening. He thought Andron to be untouchable. Suddenly the room was filled with a greenish white light, and Andron was engulfed in it. "Andron! What's happening?!? What's going on?!?!" Andron could not answer. As the greenish white light engulfed him, he screamed in pain. "I've told you to much!" he screamed. There was a enormously loud explosion sound, and pieces of white glitter floated around the room before being sucked into an invisible hole somewhere in the room, where they soon disappeared.
Maggie started panicking as John Crosic came closer and closer towards her in her bathroom. She searched around her quickly, looking for something she could hit him with. "Now Maggie, are you all right? I wouldn't want anything to have had happened to you. You took off from the car before I could see how you were, before I woke up even. Now just let me see if you're okay." John knelt down and brushed Maggies hair out of her face. She tried to fight him off. "Maggie you are deranged. Don't be frightened, it's me, John," he said, trying to calm her.
In the living room, there was loud banging. "Open up! It's the police! We know you're in there John Crosic so come out with your hands up so no one has to get hurt!" came the Sheriffs yells. Crosic turned around. "Maggie?! You called the police? What is the sense in that! You know who I am!" John hoped Maggie would remember him. "I know who you are and you're trying to kill me! Get away!" Maggie covered her face, hoping John wouldn't hurt her. "That's ridiculous, why would I try to kill you? Maggie, I love you!" John pleaded with her but Maggie was set in her decision. She knew he was the murderer.
Soon after, the police broke down the door and ran into the bathroom, pulling John away from Maggie and handcuffing his hands behind his back. One of the deputies got Maggie up from the floor and put a blanket around her. He led her out to the living room where he sat her on the couch. The sheriff led John out the front door and loaded him into the back of the police car before taking off for the station.
"Did he hurt you?" the deputy that had picked Maggie up off the floor asked, caringly. "N-no. I'm-I'm all right. Thank you." Maggie held herself in a ball shape on the couch, pressing her knees close to her chest. "Would you like me to stay with you for a little while? I haven't any work at the station." "No no. I will be fine. I am just a little shaken. Thank you." Maggie nodded at the deputy and he nodded back . He rose from the couch and left Maggie alone in her house.
Maggie leaned over the side of the couch and lit a lamp. The light blinded her for a few minutes until she got used to it at which point she lit the rest of the lights in the room. She locked the front door and made sure that all the windows and other doors in the house were locked before settling back down on the couch. She closed her eyes and held her hand up to her mouth, covering a yawn. She had had a hard and eventful evening. Maggie felt a headache coming, something that was not unusual to her with everything that was now going on.
As Maggie sat and thought about what had happened earlier this evening, fear still throbbing through her veins, she wondered if she had been wrong to call the police and have them arrest John. She was so sure earlier that he was the murderer and that he was trying to kill her that she thought she may have acted a bit drastically. Could Maggie drop the charges? Was she even going to press charges against the man she thought she knew?
Maggie looked above the fireplace and into the mirror nearly frightening herself with her reflection. Her hair was tossed about and--the worst she had ever seen it. She had dirt on her face and her clothes were torn in a few places. There were two small cuts on her left cheek that had already scabbed over as well as a cut on her forehead. Maggie knew she had been through an ordeal and even though she didn't plan on going out and doing anything more on this night, she still felt she needed to clean herself up and make herself look presentable to—well, herself.
Maggie rose from the couch and as she did, something in the mirror caught her eye. There was a splash of red that wasn't there when she was looking into it before, and Maggie went back to stand in front of the mirror to figure out what it was. When she stood in front of the mirror and her reflection was seen, the red disappeared. Maggie moved aside to see what else was being reflected in the mirror. The bay window with all the paintings sitting in it was what Maggie saw, and in the center was a certain surprise that Maggie wished she hadn't noticed and frankly that wasn't there.
She took her eyes away from the mirror and walked around the couch to stare at the painting of her mother that was now covered in blood. Why was it covered in blood? Maggie wasn't bleeding that heavily and she knew that one of the policemen didn't sustain an injury or else she would have seen the blood before this. The blood dripped down out of the painting and onto the floor and Maggie bent down. Staring at it she put her fore and middle fingers into it, the same ones that were already stained from John's shirt, and raised it to her nose and smelled it. It smelled like paint, but Maggie knew that it was real blood. When Maggie looked back up to the painting she saw that the blood had all dripped off of it in a matter of seconds and she saw something that frightened her more than she was frightened before. Her mothers clothes in the painting were blood stained, and the woman whom Maggie called "mom" was holding a large knife in one hand and a rope in the other. The painting cackled causing Maggie to jump back and hit her head on the back of the couch.
Chapter 16
Maggie Evans walked into the Collinsport Inn, reporting for the job that she didn't need to report to. Since she was the manager and owner of the Inn, she really didn't have to be there, but liked to work in the coffee shop anyway. After putting her purse and a few bills from the Inn that she had taken home to look over but didn't actually get to, in her office, Maggie joined her coworker Debby in the coffee shop. "Mornin' Mag," Debby greeted her boss as she washed her hands. "Hey," was all Maggie said. "Somethin' wrong?" "No, why?" "You seem a bit out there today." "Really? I hadn't noticed." Maggie yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. "So what's been up? You haven't been to work in the last couple days." "I dunno, I just didn't feel like coming that's all," Maggie said, sitting on a stool behind the counter. "That's unusual. Have you been getting any sleep lately? You seem tired." "Maybe that's it. I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night. I had a dream that my mothers portrait had blood dripping down the front and stuff, and it made me so paranoid that this morning when I got up I put that thing in the laundry room, and locked the door." Maggie laughed. "Stupid I guess." "It is odd. I mean, why would it frighten you that much?" "I don't know. It was one of those dreams that seemed so real, but you are really sure that it can't be because it isn't believable." "Maybe it was real and you just thought it was a dream because you were so tired last night." "It could have been. I wouldn't put it past myself for it to be real, given the things that happen in this town."
Maggie got up, not wanting to be sitting and doing nothing, and started taking down the chairs and putting them on the floor. After she was finished, she went over to the front window and switched the sign to say 'Open'. "You know Maggie, I read about how you had John put in jail." "Read about it?" Maggie said, not even caring to talk about it. "Yea, it was in the paper. A huge front page article about how you thought that John attacked you and that he was the murderer and so you had him sent to jail. But it didn't say if you pressed charges. Did you?" "No, she didn't," John Crosic's voice broke in. "Mornin' all," he said, sitting at a table. Maggie wasn't sure if she should talk to him or not, but decided to anyway. "How are you doing?" "Well, considering that I spent a night in jail and that everyone in town has been giving me strange looks today, I s'pose I'm doing all right." "That's good," Debby said, walking over to his table to take his order so that Maggie didn't have to. "What can I get ya?" "Coffee, black." "No pie?" "No thanks, not today. I'm not really in the mood for pie, hear it's been poisoned by some madman." "That was a cheap shot," Maggie said to him. "Look, if you've got something to say about me sending you to jail, spit it out or shut up." Maggie was surprised by her own frankness. "Well, since you offered, I do have something to say," John paused. "I don't know what the hell your problem was that night, but I was only trying to help. If you weren't so paranoid about people trying to kill you, maybe you would have seen the simple fact that was right in front of you." "If you hadn't of busted down my front and bathroom doors, maybe I wouldn't have had you arrested. I could have had you charged with destruction of property. Why didn't I think of that before?" "Because you were to freakin' hung up on the fact that someone might have been trying to kill you when in fact they were trying to help you." "How the hell was I supposed to know that? Your voice sounded sinister when you came towards me, we had just come from a murder scene, I found a bloody shirt in the back of your car, and god knows what else could have been back there, so you really can't blame me for acting the way I did now can you?" "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. I CAN and WILL blame you. You are the one who called the police. You are the one who had them arrest me. You are the one who accepted the ride home with me in the first place! You could have made a thousand different choices, but instead you chose to make the ones that you knew were going to lead me into getting arrested." "The only reason I took a ride home from you was because I trusted you! Let me make a note of that." Maggie went over to the board with the title of "Daily Specials," and picked up the dry erase marker. "Do not accept rides home from John Crosic. There, that better for you? Now I will know not to accept rides from you anymore."
"Both of you stop it! You are acting so damn childish!" Debby shouted, bringing John's coffee over to him. "Shut up!" They both said to her at the same time. Debby looked offended. "Look, you can say anything you want, but I will still and will always believe that it was your fault that you got hauled off downtown. You were the one who was acting like a maniac." "Well, next time I try to help you, what should I act like? A pink fairy princess or something?" Maggie laughed. "It would be kind of funny seeing you in a pink dress." "And it would be kind of funny seeing you actually act like a lady," John said, taking a sip of his coffee. Maggie slapped him hard across the face, causing him to spill his coffee on himself. "Now get out of my coffee shop! Leave now before I call the cops on you again!" "Well, we now know who the crazy asshole is, don't we?" John rose from his seat and walked out.
Maggie sat down in a chair at the table that John had just been sitting at moments earlier. She signed heavily, and then looked at Debby. "I'm sorry for doing that whole thing in front of you, but I had to get it out of me." Maggie folded her arms together and put them on the table, laying her head on top of them. "Well ya know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to him would it?" "I guess not, but if you were in my place you know you would have done the same thing." "Okay, you're right, I probably would have, but I don't know if I would have taken it that far." "I know, I know. I got into the moment. He was sitting there egging me on and I fell for it." Debby looked at Maggie. "Do you love him?" "What? How can you ask me that after what just happened." "It is a simple question. Yes or no. Do you love him?" Debby walked over and picked up the cup and saucer John had left on the table. "I.." "No, YES or NO. No in-betweens." Debby said forcefully. Maggie looked at her. "I can't answer—" "NO! Yes or no! No other words but one of those two!" Debby knew she was going to get the answer out of her somehow. "NO! Are you happy now?!" "No, I'm not. Let's not lie to ourselves Maggie." Maggie looked at Debby. She was beginning to get on her nerves. "Damn it! How do you always know! I swear I will never tell you anything again!" "It's one of the perks of being your best friend, getting to know you and what you are thinking so well." Debby was satisfied now. Maggie had confirmed what Debby already knew. She loved him. "Now get in that office of yours and call him! GO!"
Quentin sat in the drawing room at Collinwood, bored out of his mind. Carolyn had left earlier to go shopping. 'Like she really needs anymore clothes,' Quentin thought to himself. She had offered him a ride into town if he wanted it, but he declined. Now he wished that he hadn't of. David had recovered mostly, though he still had aches and pains now and then. David had went with Carolyn into town.
Quentin sat and thought about what he could do to pass the time before tonight. Tonight was the night he was to change into that awful beast for the first time in years! Andron was gone, at least as far as Quentin knew. But how could he be gone? Quentin had watched him explode into millions of tiny sparkly pieces, and be sucked into an invisible hole in Quentin's room! What would Quentin do without Andron? Should he do what Andron told him to do and lock himself up somewhere other than the Old House? Quentin knew of no other place. Sure, he could lock himself up in Collinwood somewhere, but the doors of Collinwood were no where strong enough to hold the werewolf in a room. And Quentin couldn't lock himself in a cell in the basement of Collinwood because he was sure that either Carolyn or David, or even one of the servants would hear him.
There were just to many things to think about. Like what did Andron mean when he said find the person confined to a canvas? Who was that person and where was Quentin to find them? This was all to confusing. Looking over to a table beside the chair he was sitting in, Quentin saw the newspaper. He picked it up. It was today's newspaper. Flipping it over, Quentin saw a huge headline which read "Local Girl Believed to Have Found the Murderer."
When Quentin had finished reading the article, which was about Maggie having John arrested and sent to jail, Quentin decided that he should pay Maggie a visit and see how she was doing. Putting the paper down, Quentin left Collinwood.
Arriving at Maggie's cottage, Quentin got out of his car and walked up to the porch. Knocking on the door, Quentin waited for Maggie to answer, unsure about whether or not she would be home from the Inn yet. "Who is it?" came Maggie's voice from the other side of the door. "Maggie it's Quentin. Quentin Collins." Maggie opened the door. "Please, come in Quentin." "Thank you." Maggie and Quentin sat on the couch. "To what do I owe this visit?" "To the article in the Collinsport Star. I read it and I just had to pay you a visit. How are you?" "Oh, that, yes I heard about it. I am okay, all things considered." "I can't believe that John could be the murderer. Is he?" "I don't know. I can't really be sure. All the things that happened in order just made me think he was, I guess. He came to the Inn this morning and I went off on him. We had a good popcorn fight, you should've been there," Maggie laughed, referring to a figure of speech that she had heard Quentin say to piss Carolyn off before, meaning that they should have brought popcorn to the fight because it was a good one. "You'll have to tell me when you are going to fight with someone like that so I can come and invite guests." They laughed together. "Would you like some tea?" Maggie asked, hearing the tea kettle screech in the kitchen. "Yes, please." Quentin said. Maggie left and went into the kitchen.
Quentin rose from the couch and walked around Maggie's living room. He stood at the bay window and examined all the paintings that her father had completed before he had died so many years ago. Quentin was surprised that she hadn't sold any of them yet. Squatting down, Quentin examined a portrait of a woman with blonde hair that caught his eye. She was strikingly beautiful. "A person confined to a canvas," Quentin whispered to himself. "Maybe I should go to an art gallery." Quentin continued to examine the painting. "No need to go to an art gallery, dear Quentin," a voice came into his head. "What? Who?" "Me. Look at me. Beautiful, aren't I?" the voice came into Quentin's mind again. "Yes, you are."
"Quentin who are you talking to?" Maggie's voice broke into the mind conversation Quentin was having with whatever else was in the room. "Uh, no one, just thinking aloud." Quentin walked over and sat back down on the couch and took the tea from Maggie. "Thank you." Quentin sipped his tea. He looked at Maggie, noticing that she was dressed up, to dressed up for the house. "Do you have plans tonight?" "Yes, but don't worry you aren't any trouble. After I had my fight with John today I called him. I left numerous messages on his machine, none of which he returned so I am going over to his house to apologize." "What for? He is the one who terrorized you," Quentin put his tea cup down on the coffee table. "Well, according to what you read in the article that would seem so, but I was assuming to much and I should have thought rationally." "But all the things that happened made you that way! You were distraught at someone being killed at the Inn! John should have been a little more considerate when you didn't want him to be here." Maggie paused a few seconds before saying something back. Quentin had changed, he was much more caring now. But what had caused it? "Yes, that is true, but I could have been a bit calmer. Besides, you know what they say about assuming. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me!" Maggie and Quentin laughed.
Quentin looked over the back of the couch at the painting of the blonde woman. "Umm, Maggie, who is that painting of? The portrait of the blonde woman, who is it?" "Oh, that's my mother. Pop painted her before she died." Maggie sipped a bit of tea. She had brought the painting out of the laundry room when she had arrived home, knowing that she had been stupid for putting it there.
Quentin looked at Maggie when she told him who the painting was of, and then looked back at the painting. It winked and smiled at him! Could he have found the person confined to a canvas??! He knew he had. The problem now was, how was he going to get the portrait back to Collinwood? He would have to steal it.
Quentin felt for a pulse. There was none. He turned Roger over so that he was laying on his back and started CPR. Quentin pushed on Rogers chest, one hand on top the other and interlocked, five times. Then Quentin blew air into his mouth. He repeated this process over and over and over again, until he would get a reaction. Quentin felt for a pulse again. Roger had one, but had not waken up. Quentin hurried over to the phone and dialed 911, waiting frantically for the operator to pick up on the other end.
When the ambulance arrived, Quentin told the paramedics that Roger had just dropped down to the floor. He told the paramedics that Rogers heart had stopped and that Quentin did CPR on him and got a pulse back. The ambulance took Roger to the hospital, and Quentin stayed at Collinwood. "You were trying to prove something to me, weren't you?" Quentin yelled to the ceiling, walking back into the drawing room. "Yes, I was," came Andron's voice from behind Quentin. Quentin quickly spun around. "You knew that I doubted what you said about every time I drink I take away a portion of someone's life, didn't you? "Yes, I did." Andron walked around Quentin to stand in front of the fireplace. "Isn't it funny how one little glass of brandy," at this point the glass appeared on the table again, "can cost someone so much." "Why did it have to be Roger? Why him? He was on deaths door anyway." "If I had of had it happen to someone you didn't know, you would have never known that what I said was true, now would you?" "Is Roger going to die?" "I can't be sure. You are right, he was on deaths door. Judging by how he immediately fainted when you drank the brandy, I estimate that he had only a few days left. Don't feel guilty if he dies. He was going to die soon anyway." "So that gives you the right to take his life from him a few days to early?" "You see, that's where you're wrong. It doesn't give me the right, it doesn't give anyone the right. But you drank the brandy, so you are the one who, if he dies, has taken his life away from him a few days to early, not me." "You irresponsible bastard!" Quentin yelled, arms outstretched, intending to wrap them around Androns throat. Andron quickly disappeared and reappeared behind Quentin. "Wrong again, Quentin. I am not the irresponsible one, you are. I am simply here to show you what you have been doing to people for nearly 100 years. The truth hurts, doesn't it Quentin?" "You'll pay for this." "No, you will pay for this. Others who suffer because of you will pay for it, but not me. Now, I suggest to head to the hospital, Roger is due to take a turn for the worse." Andron disappeared. Quentin looked around the room. "Andron! ANDRON!" Quentin yelled. There was no answer. Quentin checked his pockets for his car keys, and when he was sure he had them, he rushed out the door.
Scottsville, Virginia
Carolyn waited in the hospital for a nurse to come back from the nurse's station. Carolyn had flew down there and found out as much as she could. Of the 78 people on the plane, 70 had died, and only 7 had survived. One body was still missing. Carolyn decided that she should first go to the hospital, to see if David and Angelique were there, and if they weren't, they had to be dead. The nurse returned with a clipboard. She told Carolyn to follow her to the intensive care unit.
Once there, the nurse pointed out the 7 beds that the survivors were laying in, and told her that some of them were pretty gruesome looking and that she may not be able to identify them if they were who she was looking for. Carolyn ignored the nurse, and checked the beds, one by one. The first one wasn't David or Angelique, nor was the second, nor the third. The occupant of the fourth bed was burned on his or her face, but Carolyn was pretty sure that it wasn't David or Angelique. The occupant of the fifth bed had blonde hair, but the woman had bandages over her face. Carolyn thought that this could be Angelique, but after checking for a very noticeable wound scar on the underside of the woman's left arm, Carolyn was convinced it wasn't her. The sixth bed wasn't occupied at all, and when asked, the nurse told Carolyn that person had died. Carolyn came upon the seventh bed, praying in her mind for it to be either David or Angelique. Pulling back the curtain, Carolyn let out a yelp of pleasure at seeing her cousin David laying in the bed, nearly unharmed.
David had a cast on his right arm, and a bandage on his forehead. Other than that, and a few scrapes and bruises, he was perfectly fine. Carolyn told the nurse that this was her cousin, David Collins, and the nurse marked it down on the clipboard before walking away. Carolyn pulled a chair up beside the bed and took his left hand in her right and held it, tears of joy running down her face. David slowly opened his eyes, recognizing his cousins warm touch. "David! You're alive!" Carolyn said, kissing his cheek. "Yes, and mostly unharmed, lucky for me," David muttered. He tried to sit up, but winced in pain, figuring he probably had a few broken ribs. "Angelique, do you know where she is?" "She isn't in one of those beds?" "No." David closed his eyes, a few tears slipping out from under his eye lids. "She's dead. I know it." "How do you know? She could be at another hospital. They may have more survivors than previously thought." "No. She is dead. I saw her die." "You what?" "I...I saw her die." David shuddered and opened his watery eyes. "Oh David, I'm so sorry." "She saved my life. She pushed me into the bathroom of the plane, there was only room for one!" David began to sob uncontrollably. Carolyn held him in her arms, letting him cry all he wanted. When he had stopped, he looked at her. "The plane hit a-" "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to David," Carolyn said, looking at him with her caring eyes. "I want to talk about it. The police have to know what happened. The plane hit something in the air, I don't know what it was. It sent our plane into a tailspin, and everyone flew out of their seats, going from one end of the plane to the other. Angelique and I tried to get back to the bathrooms, and when we did, there was only room for one in the bathroom. We heard a boom, and Angelique......." David stopped and started crying again. It was amazing he had been able to get that far. "We can talk about it later, David. Please, just rest." "NO! I want to tell you! Angelique pushed me in. She told me she loved me and that she would see me again someday. Then she shut the door." David finished and started sobbing again.
In Collinsport, Quentin is at the hospital, waiting for a nurse to return with news of Roger. Little did Quentin know that the news wouldn't be good. The nurse came around the corner. "Quentin Collins?" she asked, looking at Quentin. "Yes?" "I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Roger Collins has died. We did everything we could to try and resuscitate him, but we couldn't get him back. On the way here he went into cardiac arrest, and the EMS team was unable to revive him. The estimated cause of death was blood loss. Again, I'm sorry for your loss." The nurse looked at Quentin who looked completely dumbfounded, and then walked away.
Quentin just sat there. He couldn't believe what he was saying. He had to leave Collinwood. The curse that had been set upon the grounds more that 200 years ago had just struck again. Finally, Quentin rose from his seat and walked down the hall to the ICU. He went through the double doors and looked into the different rooms for Roger. When he found him, Quentin went into the room.
Roger was the only one in the room besides Quentin. There were latex gloves laying all over the floor, as well as sterile gowns that the doctors and nurses had wore when they were still working on him. There was a tube down his throat, and two pieces of tape holding it in, one on each side of his mouth. Rogers skin was extremely pale and Quentin hated the site of Rogers lifeless body laying in front of him.
Tears streamed down Quentin's face, and with the back of his hand he quickly wiped them away. There was nothing he could do for Roger now, so there was no reason to stay. Quentin knew what he had to do. He had to find Andron and make him pay for what he had done.
When Quentin got back to Collinwood, he walked into the drawing room and yelled for Andron a few times. When he got no answer, Quentin thought of the next logical answer for contacting a spirit in Collinwood-a séance. Quentin got a candle and placed it in the middle of the table that the brandy glass had appeared on earlier when Andron was taunting him. Quentin then pulled a chair up closer to the table and turned out the lights. Lighting the candle, Quentin sat down in the chair and put his hands on the table, making sure that they touched and that the candle was in the circle he had formed. Quentin concentrated on finding Andron. "Spirits, I call forth one by the name of Andron. It is not known what he is or is not. I call him forth from wherever he may be at this time, to come here, to this room and make contact with me. Andron, come from hell or heaven. Come from the far reaches of the universe. Wherever you currently may be, I command you to come to me now! I command you in the name of Roger Collins, only one of your probable many victims. Come here and make your presence known!"
Quentin waited a few seconds. Outside the wind howled, and an unlikely clap of thunder was heard—the sky had been clear today. Suddenly, Quentin's shoulders scrunched up and his eyes became fixated on one point on the ceiling. His eyes turned a dark green, he was in a trance. In his mind, flashes of pictures from another time or place swiftly moved. He saw Roger in the hospital bed, dead. He saw and explosion in the village. He saw fire, fire that burned the village to the ground, that consumed Collinwood and turned its luxury to nothing but ashes. He saw himself, trapped in a room, trying to get out. He couldn't. The room was becoming consumed by fire so quickly. Quentin caught fire. The fire licked at his pants leg and then began traveling up it. Quentin screamed in pain as the heat seared his skin. He tried to pat it out with his hands, but when he couldn't, he quickly took off his shirt and tried to pat it out with that. It wasn't working. Next he saw Carolyn, standing at a group of graves. The gravestones could not be seen. When Carolyn moved aside, Quentin read them clearly: Roger Collins 1935-1997. Angelique Collins 1955-1997. David Collins 1955-1997. And finally, Quentin Collins 1897-1997.
Quentin heard himself screaming. His trance was broke and his eyes turned from the dark green they had been, back to the baby blue that entranced the ladies. The candle wasn't on the table, and when Quentin looked for it, he saw it laying at his feet. He noticed that the bottom of his pants were seared, some spots even burned through. Had what he saw been wrong? Had Quentin caught fire just now? Quentin knew he did. But what was all that stuff that he saw in those visions? Was it the future? Was it what was to happen to Collinwood should he not change, or did something else have to be done to prevent that horrible disaster?
As Quentin thought about all these things, he didn't notice that Andron was sitting on the couch in front of him. Andron patiently waited for Quentin to stop asking himself questions, all of which Andron heard in his own mind as well. Quentin looked up and jumped at seeing Andron there. Andron didn't have his normal cape on, and Quentin finally got a good look at him. Short, brown hair, combed to the right. Baby blue eyes, just like Quentin had, that seduced the ladies when they looked into them. Strikingly good looks, that Quentin was sure that he had seen somewhere before. Mutton chops on his cheeks.
Andron was dressed in period clothes, probably from the 19th century. It took Quentin a while to put two and two together. It was as if he was looking into a mirror! Andron looked just as Quentin had in 1897!
Chapter 14
Maggie Evans was walking down the streets of Collinsport. She seemed to be the only one out at this time of night, but she had reason to be. There had been another murder, and this time it had been at the Collinsport Inn. Maggie had driven in her car most of the way, but a ways down the road from the Inn it had run out of gasoline, for Maggie had forgotten to fill it earlier during the day.
Reaching the Inn, Maggie entered to see a group of police officers and yellow tape all over the place. Maggie approached the sheriff and tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh! Ms. Evans, you gave me a start." "Sorry sheriff. Why is all this here? What have you called me down here for?" Maggie asked, eager to hear the answers. The sheriff had been vague on the telephone. "Ms. Evans.... there has been another murder. A Ms. Cathy Walker has been murdered. She was a customer here, was she not?" Maggie took a few seconds to answer. This all came as such a shock to her. One of her own occupants, murdered! "Uh, yes-yes she was," Maggie finally blurted out. "Where is the body?" Maggie asked, still in shock. "At the foot of the stairs," the sheriff gestured over to where the stairs were. Maggie looked around the men and saw a body, covered with a sheet, laying there. "We believe she was attacked in her room and she tried to get away when the attacker pushed her down the stairs. The fall killed her." Maggie looked at the sheriff, wide-eyed. She could barely stutter words out of her mouth. "Ca-Cathy." Maggie said. Tears started streaming down her face. "Ms. Evans, come, sit down here." The sheriff led her over to a table in the diner and sat her down in one of the chairs. "We are going to have to ask you some questions, Ms. Evans. Do you feel up to them now, or would you like to wait?" The sheriff hoped she wouldn't force herself to answer the questions now.
Maggie didn't answer for a couple minutes. She looked at the sheriff and then opened her mouth, not making any sound. Her eyes looked like fear unleashed, and she could hardly keep her composure. All the while she was thinking about why all these murders had to happen. And why did this one have to happen at her Inn? She was sure the Inn would be closed for weeks for the police investigation. "Ms. Evans, you can answer the questions some other time. Why don't you go home and lie down. Is there anyone we can call for you?" Maggie looked up at the sheriff. "NO! I am going to answer the questions! I'm not gonna let that sick man get to me! What do you need to know!?" The sheriff looked shocked. "All right Maggie. How long had Ms. Walker stayed here?" "She had been here for four days." "Do you know of anyone that may have had a grudge against her?" "No. She never talked about her personal life. She just told me that she was here on vacation." Maggie kept her composure, determined not to breakdown and let the killer get to her again. "That's a bit odd." "That's what I said." A tear fell down Maggie's cheek, which she quickly wiped away. "Is there any reason that would make you think this was a suicide?" "No, she was a very upbeat person the few times I talked to her." The sheriff wrote a few notes in his pocket notebook then looked up at Maggie. "Thank you Ms. Evans, that's all we'll be needing for now. Is there anyone we can call?" "Yes. Yes. Call John Crosic."
A half hour later, John Crosic pulled up outside the Inn, fearing that Maggie had been killed. When he came inside and saw her standing in the lobby, he ran up to her, hugged her, and kissed her. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said, pulling her close. "Mr. Crosic, would you take her home? She needs to rest." "Of course. Come on Maggie." Crosic lead Maggie out and put her into his car. After fastening his seat belt, they sped off to Maggies house.
On the way home, they said nothing to each other. John could see that Maggie was shaken up, and he figured there had been another murder. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but then was afraid that she would breakdown again. So, he didn't ask her until they were almost to her house. "Maggie, are you okay?" "What? Oh. Oh yes, I'm-I'm fine." She said nothing after that. She was extremely tired.
Maggie reached down on the right side of the seat and pulled a lever, which caused the seat to lean backwards. Maggie turned on her side and closed her eyes. Draping her arm over the side of the seat to rest in the floor behind Crosic's seat, Maggie closed her eyes. Her hand had fallen into something wet. Maggie felt around and when she opened her eyes, she saw that a shirt was laying behind the seat. Maggie lifted her hand up and looked at it. Her fingertips were red.
Maggie screamed in horror. John was the killer! Maggie knew it! John looked at Maggie, wondering what she had screamed about. He kept his eyes on her, and asked her what was wrong. "You are the murderer! You are!" Maggie screamed at him. She sat up quickly in her seat and fumbled with her door knob, trying frantically to get the door open. She had to get away from him. She knew he was going to kill her now that she knew!
Maggie looked out in front window. She screamed "Watch out!!!!!" John looked in front of the car. There was a woman standing there, in the middle of the road. John swerved, slamming the breaks. Maggie let out a horrifying scream as did John before....
Quentin stared wide-eyed at the scene before him. He and Andron hadn't spoken one word to each other. Andron was full and ready to talk, but he figured he should wait for Quentin to snap out of the shock. "You-you-you are me!" Quentin said, finally breaking free. "No, I am no one." Quentin stood up and walked over to stand in front of Andron. "What do you mean!" "I mean that I am no one. I am nothing but a spirit, floating about, able to take whatever form I wish. I chose to look like you, so I do. That is all." "What are you trying to tell me?" "This is how you used to be." "What do you mean? That is how I am. I haven't changed!" "Wrong. You have changed. You are no longer the man you were when you looked like this. You are different now." "I am not! I am the same person! I still drink! You saw what I did to Roger." "Yes, I did see. But that doesn't mean that you haven't changed, because you have. You have seen that what I say is true. That you are killing people whether you like it or not." "What did those visions mean? Why did I see them?" "They were simply a glimpse of what is, or was, to come. That is not going to happen anymore. You have changed now, so has the future of the world. You hold the fate of everyone within your hands, whether you know it or not. When we previously talked, you asked me if you were going to change into the wolf again, and I answered yes. I am here now to warn you that tomorrow is the first time you will change." "How can I stop it?" "You cannot stop it. Until you have proven that you have the side of you that is the wolf controlled, you will not stop changing." "How do I do that?" "You must keep yourself from the rest of the world when you change. The hunters will come after you while you are the beast for when you are in that state of mind, of body, that is when your soul is worth so much. If they manage to obtain you, they will kill you. You must not allow that to happen. If it does, the devil will return and apocalypse will overrun the earth. He has already gotten to one immortal in this town, all he needs is you." "Who is the immortal he has already?" "Angelique. She chose to sacrifice herself for her husband, so she was less valuable to the devil. He still took her soul, but her soul alone could not bring him back to being the ruler of the earth. You are the final installment, the final goal." "I will not drink anymore." "You needn't tell me that. I already know. I knew that when you saw how Roger died because of you that you would never touch the liquor again. That is not your problem any longer. Now you must conquer the uncontrollable side of you. Once you have managed to force yourself to stop changing, the wolf and the curse upon you will be broken. You will, however, still be valuable to the devil. I will not lie to you, Quentin. The process will not be easy, nor will it be painless. You must learn to draw the evil part of you that is the wolf from your body." "How am I to do that?" "I am only permitted to give you one hint." Andron paused. He rose from the couch and walked over to a mirror, keeping his back to it. "There is a potion, which if drunk will rob you of your inner wolf. Only if a spell is recited while you are drinking this potion will the wolf be drawn out of you. To find this spell, look for one whom is confined to a canvas." Andron turned around and looked into the mirror. "No wonder you used to do whatever you wanted. What with these good looks, who wouldn't?" Andron examined himself in the mirror. Quentin looked down to the floor and smirked. When he looked up, Andron was gone.
Chapter 15
Quentin looked around the room, searching for Andron. He didn't see him. Sitting down on the couch, Quentin thought about how he could control the wolf side of him. He knew he would have to lock himself up to keep himself from killing anyone, but he didn't know what he would do beyond that. Quentin stood up and walked over to the bar where he poured himself a drink. Just before lifting it to drink it, he realized that he couldn't do it. He had to break himself of that habit. Quentin put the brandy glass back down and left the room.
Moments later, Quentin arrived in his own room in the west wing. He sat in the chair, trying to think where he could chain himself up. 'The Old House,' he thought. 'No one ever goes there. It will be perfect!' Quentin rose from his chair and went over to his wardrobe where he removed a board on the inside floor. Reaching into the hole, Quentin felt around for the shackles that he knew were there. Once he had found them, he pulled them out and put the board back over the hole. He placed the shackles on the table and knew that tomorrow night, he would chain himself up in the basement of the Old House.
Maggie Evans opened her eyes and looked around. She saw John sitting next to her in the car. They had skidded to a halt before hitting the tree in front of them, and they both had been thrown forward and had hit there heads on the dashboard. Maggie reached her hand up and felt her forehead. There was blood there. She looked over at John again. Her was out cold. This was her chance to get away. She slowly and quietly opened the car door and stepped out onto the ground. After checking that John was still unconscious, she took off running down the road.
Should she go home or would he look for her there? That was the closest place to where the car had crashed, and she could go and call the police there. They would come and arrest him. She knew that is where she had to go. Her house wasn't but a three minute walk from where they had crashed, so she quickly got there. When she reached her house, she patted the sides of her dress, hoping her keys were there. They were! Maggie quickly unlocked the door and went in, locking the door again behind her. She picked up the phone and dialed 911.
"911 emergency response," the operator answered. "Oh my god! Please! Send someone out here quick! I think I have the murderer! He tried to drive me home but we crashed and he is unconscious! Please! Hurry!" "Calm down ma'am. Now, where are you?" "My house! Uh-uh 55558 Sycamore Avenue. Hurry!" Maggie waited for the operators reply, but before it came, there was a bump outside and Maggie screamed before dropping the phone. She looked out the windows from where she was standing behind the couch. There was nothing but darkness. The moon's light was very little tonight, and although Maggie was standing in darkness in her house, she still couldn't see much through the windows. Over at the bay window Maggie saw a shadow pass out of the corner of her eye. She screamed again and ran into her bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her.
Hunkering down in the corner beside the bathtub, Maggie didn't turn on the light because then she knew that John would know where she was. She heard him call her name from outside, and whimpered at the thought of what he would do to her. She tried to remain as quiet as she could, though her heavy breathing and occasional whimper would have given her away instantly. Out in the living room, she heard a bang on the door. A few seconds later she heard another bang on the door and then another. Finally, she heard one more bang and the it sounded like the door had fallen to the ground. She heard footsteps out in the living room, and figured that it was John. Maggie quietly whimpered again. "Maggie? Maaaagggieee?" he said in a voice that sounded sinister to Maggie. She just knew that he was going to kill her. "Maggie please come out. I just want to be sure you're okay. I know you must be shaken up with the wreck and all, and I don't know what happened to you when you screamed before the wreck but I want to help." Maggie remained where she was. She was waiting for him to come into the bathroom. "Maggggiieeee!!! MAGGIE WHERE ARE YOU!!??!" John screamed, becoming impatient now. He hoped she wasn't dead so he could get to her.
Suddenly the door knob on the bathroom door started rattling. "Maggie, I know you're in there because the door is locked. Just open the door and we can talk about whatever it is that frightened you. Please Maggie, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!" John screamed. Maggie whimpered, confirming that she was in there. John backed up and kicked the door in, causing it to swing extremely fast on its hinges and hit the wall, the door knob busting a hole in it. "There you are Maggie! Now, let me help you." John started walking towards her.
At Collinwood, Carolyn helped David through the doors and into the drawing room, sitting him on the couch. He was still pretty sore, but he was okay nonetheless. The cast on his arm was still there, but the bandage that had been on his forehead was now gone, only a scar remained. After sitting David on the couch, Carolyn went back through the foyer and closed the door. "Quentin! QUENTIN!" she yelled through the house. After a few minutes waiting, Quentin opened the door and walked out onto the landing. "Oh, Quentin. Would you mind taking David's things up to his room? They're to heavy for me and David can't carry them." "Fine." Quentin walked down the stairs and picked up the bags. Then he turned to Carolyn. "If you need anything else I will upstairs." "Thank you." Carolyn looked at her brother, noticing the huge change in him since she left. He seemed more polite, more in control. Quentin carried the bags upstairs.
After putting David's bags in his room, Quentin headed to the West Wing to his own room. When he entered, the shackles he had left on the table greeted him. "A bit extreme, don't you think?" "No, I don't," Quentin answered, turning around already knowing that Andron was there. This time he looked like the evil werewolf beast that Quentin had never seen. It spooked him. "Is that what I look like when I change?" said Quentin, shakily. "Yes, but do not be afraid of it for fear will be your downfall.." Andron changed into a man with blonde hair and a bony face. "So you plan to chain yourself up in the Old House basement when the time comes?" "Yes. What of it?" Quentin was growing tired of Andron visiting him whenever and telling him what to do. "Nothing. It is a way to keep yourself from hurting anyone, but there is another way." "Yes, I know. The potion." "No, not the potion. It is true that you can drink the potion and that will take away the wolf, but that can only be drunk while in wolf form, and after the first time you have changed. So you see, you cannot use the potion now. If you do not wish to chain yourself up, and I know you do not, then simply take a tranquilizer pill before you change." "Why are you helping me?" "Because if you end the world, the world ends me. There will be no one who will be truly alive. Everyone will be dead but their spirits will remain. It is all very confusing, and I haven't the time to tell you now. I am not even supposed to be here, but I take pity on you. Quentin, there are many out there who loved you once, make them proud by doing something good for a change." "I am still going to chain myself to the wall." "That is your choice. I was simply offering you an alternative." "So you just came to tell me that. I could've figured that out on my own." "Well lets not seem ungrateful here. That is not all I have come to tell you. The real reason I am here is to warn you of something that may happen to you while you are chained up as the beast." "Which is?" Quentin asked, growing impatient. "All things in time, Quentin. All things in time. Until that time I suggest you think about where you are going to put yourself when you change." "The Old House basement, but you already knew that." Quentin took a seat in a chair, wishing that Andron would simply get to the point. "Yes, I know that you WERE going to lock yourself up there, but I do hope you will find a new place." "For what reason?" "If you must know then I will tell you know even though I am not permitted to." "Well who the hell permits you what you can and cannot tell me. To hell with them, just tell me what you need to tell me and let me prepare for what I have to do." "The devil hunters will come for you tomorrow night when you change. When you lock yourself up in the cellar of the Old House, they will know you are there and they will kill you once you have changed form. That is why I asked you to find another place to put yourself. They are less likely to find you should you pick another place to chain yourself up." Quentin looked alarmed. "Is there anything else I can do to protect myself?" Quentin asked, hoping the answer would be yes. "Yes, there is," said Andron, and Quentin sighed relief. "Pour a circle of salt around your before you chain yourself up. Be sure to mix the salt with crumpled garlic and poppy leaf for this will drive the devil hunters away. This is all I ca—"Andron stopped in mid sentence. He fell to the floor. Quentin wondered what was happening. He thought Andron to be untouchable. Suddenly the room was filled with a greenish white light, and Andron was engulfed in it. "Andron! What's happening?!? What's going on?!?!" Andron could not answer. As the greenish white light engulfed him, he screamed in pain. "I've told you to much!" he screamed. There was a enormously loud explosion sound, and pieces of white glitter floated around the room before being sucked into an invisible hole somewhere in the room, where they soon disappeared.
Maggie started panicking as John Crosic came closer and closer towards her in her bathroom. She searched around her quickly, looking for something she could hit him with. "Now Maggie, are you all right? I wouldn't want anything to have had happened to you. You took off from the car before I could see how you were, before I woke up even. Now just let me see if you're okay." John knelt down and brushed Maggies hair out of her face. She tried to fight him off. "Maggie you are deranged. Don't be frightened, it's me, John," he said, trying to calm her.
In the living room, there was loud banging. "Open up! It's the police! We know you're in there John Crosic so come out with your hands up so no one has to get hurt!" came the Sheriffs yells. Crosic turned around. "Maggie?! You called the police? What is the sense in that! You know who I am!" John hoped Maggie would remember him. "I know who you are and you're trying to kill me! Get away!" Maggie covered her face, hoping John wouldn't hurt her. "That's ridiculous, why would I try to kill you? Maggie, I love you!" John pleaded with her but Maggie was set in her decision. She knew he was the murderer.
Soon after, the police broke down the door and ran into the bathroom, pulling John away from Maggie and handcuffing his hands behind his back. One of the deputies got Maggie up from the floor and put a blanket around her. He led her out to the living room where he sat her on the couch. The sheriff led John out the front door and loaded him into the back of the police car before taking off for the station.
"Did he hurt you?" the deputy that had picked Maggie up off the floor asked, caringly. "N-no. I'm-I'm all right. Thank you." Maggie held herself in a ball shape on the couch, pressing her knees close to her chest. "Would you like me to stay with you for a little while? I haven't any work at the station." "No no. I will be fine. I am just a little shaken. Thank you." Maggie nodded at the deputy and he nodded back . He rose from the couch and left Maggie alone in her house.
Maggie leaned over the side of the couch and lit a lamp. The light blinded her for a few minutes until she got used to it at which point she lit the rest of the lights in the room. She locked the front door and made sure that all the windows and other doors in the house were locked before settling back down on the couch. She closed her eyes and held her hand up to her mouth, covering a yawn. She had had a hard and eventful evening. Maggie felt a headache coming, something that was not unusual to her with everything that was now going on.
As Maggie sat and thought about what had happened earlier this evening, fear still throbbing through her veins, she wondered if she had been wrong to call the police and have them arrest John. She was so sure earlier that he was the murderer and that he was trying to kill her that she thought she may have acted a bit drastically. Could Maggie drop the charges? Was she even going to press charges against the man she thought she knew?
Maggie looked above the fireplace and into the mirror nearly frightening herself with her reflection. Her hair was tossed about and--the worst she had ever seen it. She had dirt on her face and her clothes were torn in a few places. There were two small cuts on her left cheek that had already scabbed over as well as a cut on her forehead. Maggie knew she had been through an ordeal and even though she didn't plan on going out and doing anything more on this night, she still felt she needed to clean herself up and make herself look presentable to—well, herself.
Maggie rose from the couch and as she did, something in the mirror caught her eye. There was a splash of red that wasn't there when she was looking into it before, and Maggie went back to stand in front of the mirror to figure out what it was. When she stood in front of the mirror and her reflection was seen, the red disappeared. Maggie moved aside to see what else was being reflected in the mirror. The bay window with all the paintings sitting in it was what Maggie saw, and in the center was a certain surprise that Maggie wished she hadn't noticed and frankly that wasn't there.
She took her eyes away from the mirror and walked around the couch to stare at the painting of her mother that was now covered in blood. Why was it covered in blood? Maggie wasn't bleeding that heavily and she knew that one of the policemen didn't sustain an injury or else she would have seen the blood before this. The blood dripped down out of the painting and onto the floor and Maggie bent down. Staring at it she put her fore and middle fingers into it, the same ones that were already stained from John's shirt, and raised it to her nose and smelled it. It smelled like paint, but Maggie knew that it was real blood. When Maggie looked back up to the painting she saw that the blood had all dripped off of it in a matter of seconds and she saw something that frightened her more than she was frightened before. Her mothers clothes in the painting were blood stained, and the woman whom Maggie called "mom" was holding a large knife in one hand and a rope in the other. The painting cackled causing Maggie to jump back and hit her head on the back of the couch.
Chapter 16
Maggie Evans walked into the Collinsport Inn, reporting for the job that she didn't need to report to. Since she was the manager and owner of the Inn, she really didn't have to be there, but liked to work in the coffee shop anyway. After putting her purse and a few bills from the Inn that she had taken home to look over but didn't actually get to, in her office, Maggie joined her coworker Debby in the coffee shop. "Mornin' Mag," Debby greeted her boss as she washed her hands. "Hey," was all Maggie said. "Somethin' wrong?" "No, why?" "You seem a bit out there today." "Really? I hadn't noticed." Maggie yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. "So what's been up? You haven't been to work in the last couple days." "I dunno, I just didn't feel like coming that's all," Maggie said, sitting on a stool behind the counter. "That's unusual. Have you been getting any sleep lately? You seem tired." "Maybe that's it. I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night. I had a dream that my mothers portrait had blood dripping down the front and stuff, and it made me so paranoid that this morning when I got up I put that thing in the laundry room, and locked the door." Maggie laughed. "Stupid I guess." "It is odd. I mean, why would it frighten you that much?" "I don't know. It was one of those dreams that seemed so real, but you are really sure that it can't be because it isn't believable." "Maybe it was real and you just thought it was a dream because you were so tired last night." "It could have been. I wouldn't put it past myself for it to be real, given the things that happen in this town."
Maggie got up, not wanting to be sitting and doing nothing, and started taking down the chairs and putting them on the floor. After she was finished, she went over to the front window and switched the sign to say 'Open'. "You know Maggie, I read about how you had John put in jail." "Read about it?" Maggie said, not even caring to talk about it. "Yea, it was in the paper. A huge front page article about how you thought that John attacked you and that he was the murderer and so you had him sent to jail. But it didn't say if you pressed charges. Did you?" "No, she didn't," John Crosic's voice broke in. "Mornin' all," he said, sitting at a table. Maggie wasn't sure if she should talk to him or not, but decided to anyway. "How are you doing?" "Well, considering that I spent a night in jail and that everyone in town has been giving me strange looks today, I s'pose I'm doing all right." "That's good," Debby said, walking over to his table to take his order so that Maggie didn't have to. "What can I get ya?" "Coffee, black." "No pie?" "No thanks, not today. I'm not really in the mood for pie, hear it's been poisoned by some madman." "That was a cheap shot," Maggie said to him. "Look, if you've got something to say about me sending you to jail, spit it out or shut up." Maggie was surprised by her own frankness. "Well, since you offered, I do have something to say," John paused. "I don't know what the hell your problem was that night, but I was only trying to help. If you weren't so paranoid about people trying to kill you, maybe you would have seen the simple fact that was right in front of you." "If you hadn't of busted down my front and bathroom doors, maybe I wouldn't have had you arrested. I could have had you charged with destruction of property. Why didn't I think of that before?" "Because you were to freakin' hung up on the fact that someone might have been trying to kill you when in fact they were trying to help you." "How the hell was I supposed to know that? Your voice sounded sinister when you came towards me, we had just come from a murder scene, I found a bloody shirt in the back of your car, and god knows what else could have been back there, so you really can't blame me for acting the way I did now can you?" "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. I CAN and WILL blame you. You are the one who called the police. You are the one who had them arrest me. You are the one who accepted the ride home with me in the first place! You could have made a thousand different choices, but instead you chose to make the ones that you knew were going to lead me into getting arrested." "The only reason I took a ride home from you was because I trusted you! Let me make a note of that." Maggie went over to the board with the title of "Daily Specials," and picked up the dry erase marker. "Do not accept rides home from John Crosic. There, that better for you? Now I will know not to accept rides from you anymore."
"Both of you stop it! You are acting so damn childish!" Debby shouted, bringing John's coffee over to him. "Shut up!" They both said to her at the same time. Debby looked offended. "Look, you can say anything you want, but I will still and will always believe that it was your fault that you got hauled off downtown. You were the one who was acting like a maniac." "Well, next time I try to help you, what should I act like? A pink fairy princess or something?" Maggie laughed. "It would be kind of funny seeing you in a pink dress." "And it would be kind of funny seeing you actually act like a lady," John said, taking a sip of his coffee. Maggie slapped him hard across the face, causing him to spill his coffee on himself. "Now get out of my coffee shop! Leave now before I call the cops on you again!" "Well, we now know who the crazy asshole is, don't we?" John rose from his seat and walked out.
Maggie sat down in a chair at the table that John had just been sitting at moments earlier. She signed heavily, and then looked at Debby. "I'm sorry for doing that whole thing in front of you, but I had to get it out of me." Maggie folded her arms together and put them on the table, laying her head on top of them. "Well ya know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to him would it?" "I guess not, but if you were in my place you know you would have done the same thing." "Okay, you're right, I probably would have, but I don't know if I would have taken it that far." "I know, I know. I got into the moment. He was sitting there egging me on and I fell for it." Debby looked at Maggie. "Do you love him?" "What? How can you ask me that after what just happened." "It is a simple question. Yes or no. Do you love him?" Debby walked over and picked up the cup and saucer John had left on the table. "I.." "No, YES or NO. No in-betweens." Debby said forcefully. Maggie looked at her. "I can't answer—" "NO! Yes or no! No other words but one of those two!" Debby knew she was going to get the answer out of her somehow. "NO! Are you happy now?!" "No, I'm not. Let's not lie to ourselves Maggie." Maggie looked at Debby. She was beginning to get on her nerves. "Damn it! How do you always know! I swear I will never tell you anything again!" "It's one of the perks of being your best friend, getting to know you and what you are thinking so well." Debby was satisfied now. Maggie had confirmed what Debby already knew. She loved him. "Now get in that office of yours and call him! GO!"
Quentin sat in the drawing room at Collinwood, bored out of his mind. Carolyn had left earlier to go shopping. 'Like she really needs anymore clothes,' Quentin thought to himself. She had offered him a ride into town if he wanted it, but he declined. Now he wished that he hadn't of. David had recovered mostly, though he still had aches and pains now and then. David had went with Carolyn into town.
Quentin sat and thought about what he could do to pass the time before tonight. Tonight was the night he was to change into that awful beast for the first time in years! Andron was gone, at least as far as Quentin knew. But how could he be gone? Quentin had watched him explode into millions of tiny sparkly pieces, and be sucked into an invisible hole in Quentin's room! What would Quentin do without Andron? Should he do what Andron told him to do and lock himself up somewhere other than the Old House? Quentin knew of no other place. Sure, he could lock himself up in Collinwood somewhere, but the doors of Collinwood were no where strong enough to hold the werewolf in a room. And Quentin couldn't lock himself in a cell in the basement of Collinwood because he was sure that either Carolyn or David, or even one of the servants would hear him.
There were just to many things to think about. Like what did Andron mean when he said find the person confined to a canvas? Who was that person and where was Quentin to find them? This was all to confusing. Looking over to a table beside the chair he was sitting in, Quentin saw the newspaper. He picked it up. It was today's newspaper. Flipping it over, Quentin saw a huge headline which read "Local Girl Believed to Have Found the Murderer."
When Quentin had finished reading the article, which was about Maggie having John arrested and sent to jail, Quentin decided that he should pay Maggie a visit and see how she was doing. Putting the paper down, Quentin left Collinwood.
Arriving at Maggie's cottage, Quentin got out of his car and walked up to the porch. Knocking on the door, Quentin waited for Maggie to answer, unsure about whether or not she would be home from the Inn yet. "Who is it?" came Maggie's voice from the other side of the door. "Maggie it's Quentin. Quentin Collins." Maggie opened the door. "Please, come in Quentin." "Thank you." Maggie and Quentin sat on the couch. "To what do I owe this visit?" "To the article in the Collinsport Star. I read it and I just had to pay you a visit. How are you?" "Oh, that, yes I heard about it. I am okay, all things considered." "I can't believe that John could be the murderer. Is he?" "I don't know. I can't really be sure. All the things that happened in order just made me think he was, I guess. He came to the Inn this morning and I went off on him. We had a good popcorn fight, you should've been there," Maggie laughed, referring to a figure of speech that she had heard Quentin say to piss Carolyn off before, meaning that they should have brought popcorn to the fight because it was a good one. "You'll have to tell me when you are going to fight with someone like that so I can come and invite guests." They laughed together. "Would you like some tea?" Maggie asked, hearing the tea kettle screech in the kitchen. "Yes, please." Quentin said. Maggie left and went into the kitchen.
Quentin rose from the couch and walked around Maggie's living room. He stood at the bay window and examined all the paintings that her father had completed before he had died so many years ago. Quentin was surprised that she hadn't sold any of them yet. Squatting down, Quentin examined a portrait of a woman with blonde hair that caught his eye. She was strikingly beautiful. "A person confined to a canvas," Quentin whispered to himself. "Maybe I should go to an art gallery." Quentin continued to examine the painting. "No need to go to an art gallery, dear Quentin," a voice came into his head. "What? Who?" "Me. Look at me. Beautiful, aren't I?" the voice came into Quentin's mind again. "Yes, you are."
"Quentin who are you talking to?" Maggie's voice broke into the mind conversation Quentin was having with whatever else was in the room. "Uh, no one, just thinking aloud." Quentin walked over and sat back down on the couch and took the tea from Maggie. "Thank you." Quentin sipped his tea. He looked at Maggie, noticing that she was dressed up, to dressed up for the house. "Do you have plans tonight?" "Yes, but don't worry you aren't any trouble. After I had my fight with John today I called him. I left numerous messages on his machine, none of which he returned so I am going over to his house to apologize." "What for? He is the one who terrorized you," Quentin put his tea cup down on the coffee table. "Well, according to what you read in the article that would seem so, but I was assuming to much and I should have thought rationally." "But all the things that happened made you that way! You were distraught at someone being killed at the Inn! John should have been a little more considerate when you didn't want him to be here." Maggie paused a few seconds before saying something back. Quentin had changed, he was much more caring now. But what had caused it? "Yes, that is true, but I could have been a bit calmer. Besides, you know what they say about assuming. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me!" Maggie and Quentin laughed.
Quentin looked over the back of the couch at the painting of the blonde woman. "Umm, Maggie, who is that painting of? The portrait of the blonde woman, who is it?" "Oh, that's my mother. Pop painted her before she died." Maggie sipped a bit of tea. She had brought the painting out of the laundry room when she had arrived home, knowing that she had been stupid for putting it there.
Quentin looked at Maggie when she told him who the painting was of, and then looked back at the painting. It winked and smiled at him! Could he have found the person confined to a canvas??! He knew he had. The problem now was, how was he going to get the portrait back to Collinwood? He would have to steal it.