Chapter 17
Quentin had returned home after his little talk with Maggie, and was pondering how he could steal the painting of Maggie's mother. He finally came to the conclusion that he would steal it when she left for John's house, which would be at 6:30 p.m. He would be cutting it close to the time the moon rose, but he had to take that chance.
A hour later, Quentin headed out the door with a bag hanging over his shoulder. He first headed the cemetery, where he went inside of the Collins mausoleum and dropped off the chains. He bolted them to the wall and then left, heading for Maggie's house. When he did reached Maggie house, he hid in the woods, watching her as she stepped out of her front door and locked it. She got into her car and sped off. Quentin came out of the woods and walked up to the door of her house, being sure that no one was watching. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a credit card, which he shoved into the crack between the door and the frame. Fidgeting with it for a little bit, he heard the lock pop. Shoving the card back into his pocket, Quentin turned the door knob and went in.
After closing the door, and locking it, in case Maggie came back because she forgot something, Quentin searched through his bag for a flashlight. When he found one, he pulled it out and turned it on. Waving the light around the room, Quentin looked around. He walked over to the bay window, and found the portrait sitting there where it had been when he was there earlier. He picked the portrait up, and smiled at the thought that he hadn't been caught. Then, he heard the door knob start to turn. He looked over and the door was opening!
Quentin dove behind the couch, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't see him. It was Maggie, and she walked around the front of the couch and into the kitchen. Quentin didn't move. A minute later, Maggie exited the kitchen, carrying a necklace, a locket, that she obviously had forgotten. She turned the light off in the living room and locked the door, shutting it behind her as she went out. Quentin sighed heavily, sighed of relief. When he heard her car pull out of the driveway, Quentin stood up. He walked up to the door and placed his ear up to it, listening for Maggie outside. When he was sure that she was gone, he unlocked the door and opened it. Locking the door again, Quentin walked out, shutting it behind him.
When he got back to Collinwood, at 7, he raced up to his room, through his black coat, bag, and portrait into his room, carefully hiding his portrait under his bed, and rushed back out. He left Collinwood again, not even acknowledging Carolyn and David in the drawing room. He went to the cemetery, and quickly ran into the mausoleum. He pulled the ring in the lions mouth, telling it to hurry up so he could get into the secret room. Once the door was open, he went in, and quickly shut the door behind him. He turned to walk down the steps, but instead fell—the pain was starting.
Quentin felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, and he screamed aloud and it panned throughout his body. He dragged himself across the floor, trying desperately to get to the shackles on the wall across the room. Another sharp pain hit him, and he again yelled out. He balled up so that his head touched his knees, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach. The pain was getting worse. Quentin looked at his hands. They were starting to get harry. He dug his fingers into the floor and attempted to crawl across the floor again. He reached the shackles, and when he tried to pull himself up so that he could chain his wrists in, he couldn't for another sharp pain went throughout his body.
Quentin ripped off his shirt, and watched the wolf hair spread up his arm and down across his breast, down to his waist. His feet were beginning to hurt, he suspected from his feet growing larger and not fitting in his shoes. He took his shoes off, and as yet another sharp pain shot throughout his body, his feet grew to the proper size they were supposed to be in wolf form, and ripped his socks in half. The transformation was coming quicker that Quentin had expected. His muscles grew larger, his hair on his head grew out of control. The teeth in Quentin's mouth grew sharper, fangs growing from his once human sized canines. He was still aware of what was going on, but wouldn't be much longer for the wolf would completely take over. His calf muscles grew larger, ripping his pants at the seams, the two halves falling to the ground. He was completely naked now, the wolf had almost completely taken over. With the last shred of human mind that Quentin had, he threw himself backwards at the wall, holding his wrists up. He hit the wall, his wrists landing in the shackles, and the wall shook, causing the shackles to close around his wrists. This is what he had hoped for.
The transformation was nearly complete, the wild hair traveling past his stomach and through his groin area, around his manhood, and in-between his legs. He howled and snarled as the wolf took over.
Maggie knocked on John Crosic's door. She waited a few seconds and then knocked again. A few seconds more, the door opened. "Maggie!" John said, genuinely surprised. "May I come in John?" Maggie asked, shuffling her feet across the porch boards. "Uh, sure." John opened the screen door for her and moved aside letting her in. He then shut the door and joined her in the living room. "Please, sit down." They both sat. "John I just wanted to—"Maggie stopped. They had both started out saying the same thing, except John had put Maggie's name where she had put his. "You go first," John told Maggie. "O-okay. John I just wanted to—I mean I just wanted to say that—well, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry." Maggie began a bit slowly. "I'm sorry I had you arrested. I'm sorry I chewed you out at the diner, I sorry for everything John. I'm just, just sorry." Maggie finished the speech by blurting, trying to hurry and get everything out before she forgot it. "Me to. I'm sorry for everything. For the diner thing, for scaring you after the crash, for everything," John said with ease. His practicing in front of the mirror had paid off. He had in fact been getting ready that same night to go over to see Maggie. "Well where does this leave us?" Maggie asked. "I guess it leaves us as we were before, as long as you're comfortable with that. It leaves us as.." "...as a couple?" Maggie asked, looking at John and then staring back at the floor. "Yes, as a couple." John looked at Maggie and she looked up, meeting his gaze. He rose from his chair and moved over to the couch to sit next to her. They sat, staring into each others eyes, examining each others soul.
'Could this all be a lie?' Maggie thought, then quickly dismissing the thought from her mind. How could she even think that now? The man had apologized to her, and she should accept that. She knew she should. But, she just had to accept that there would always be some part of her that had those thoughts about John, however untrue they were. John caressed her face with his hand. He ran his thick fingers down her cheek and under her chin. Leaning in, he kissed her gently, and although resisting at first, Maggie soon returned the kiss. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. She didn't resist. They kissed each other with passion, and Maggie ran her hands up and down his back.
Maggie started pulling John's neatly tucked in shirt out of his pants, and then used her hands to unbutton it, her lips never leaving his. He laid back so that his back was flat against the couch cushions. John let Maggie unbutton his shirt, and when she had reached the last button, he lifted up and took the shirt off, tossing it to the floor. Maggie ran one of her hands down his chest, across his muscular breast and washboard abdomen, and kept the other on his face, kissing him all the while. John began to lift up her shirt, and Maggie lifted her arms, allowing John to lift the shirt off easier. He threw it to the floor and it landed on top of his. Maggie kissed John's lips and down his neck. She continued down his chest until she reached the top of his jeans, which she started to unbutton.
While Quentin howled at the moon from inside the mausoleum's secret room, down at the Old House events were happening. In the drawing room of the Old House, a blue light appeared and it got larger and brighter until it filled the room, racing up the stairs and under the shut doors leading to other rooms and out the windows. A portal opened, and five things walked out. They weren't human, and they weren't alive. They were the hunters Andron had told Quentin about, the ones that he told Quentin would come to the Old House.
A face appeared in the portal. It spoke to them: "Akisk loty fredu wesbentaiy. Kisu unt anopel ghusndu btyrnargf. Xesinatao naing luia gerdnty. Gsi! GSI! FUATYE HAGYR OAIJNA! FUGHTY NOA! FUGHTY NOA! FUGHTY NOA!!!!!!"
All the hunters nodded to the face in the portal and turned to search the house. The portal closed behind them.
Two of the hunters went out into the foyer and up the stair case to explore upstairs. One went out into the foyer and headed through the thick iron door leading to the basement. The other two remained on the ground floor, and went exploring. The hunter who went into the basement checked the main room at the foot of the stairs first. It was nothing but a large empty space. It checked every cell but found nothing. It was a good thing that Andron had warned Quentin about chaining himself up at the Old House, for if he had of, the cell that the hunter was in now would have been the one he used, and he would have been caught.
An hour later, after searching over the whole house, the hunters met back in the drawing room. The portal appeared in front of them, and they stepped though, going back to hell.
The morning sun rose and found people all over the place. Maggie was still at John's house—they were both on the couch sleeping under a thick wool blanket, embers in the fireplace giving off what last bit of heat they could muster.
Quentin was still in the secret room of the mausoleum. Even though he couldn't tell, the sun had completely risen. Slowly, the snarls and howls of the wolf died down until the wolf was calm. The wild and thick hair covering Quentin's body slowly receded, leaving him with the hair he had before he changed. His biceps and triceps shown in his arms, well defined, as he grimaced and tightened his muscles from the pain of changing back. The hair from his legs disappeared and his leg muscles tightened, as well as his thigh, abdomen, and chest muscles. The hair from his face was gone now, and his handsome features shone once again. His body was limp against the cold wall, and he shivered from the cold.
Quentin woke up from his unconsciousness and looked around. His wrists hurt, and they were wounded with bruises and cuts from the shackles. Quentin knew that he must have tried to get out of the shackles during the night. Quentin brought his hands together in front of him, the chains on the shackles just long enough for him to be able to unlock himself. He unlocked his right hand first and then his left hand. He trembled from the coldness of the room. He was still completely naked, and as he stood straight up for the first time all night, he felt the cold dampness of the room press against his body. His muscles stayed tight, trying to conserve the heat they did have. His groin area tightened and pulled close to his body, trying to keep all the warmth inside. Quentin hunched over, wrapping his arms around his stomach and kneeling to the ground. He reached over the pile of what was his clothes, and sifted through them, seeing if any of them were salvageable. He could still wear his shirt, even though the arms had been ripped off, and the last four inches or so were shredded. A result of Quentin's thrashing during the night, he was sure.
Quentin walked over to the steps and pushed one aside, pushing the little button underneath of it which opened the door for him to get out. Once the door had opened, Quentin pushed the step back over and walked out of the door way. Turing around, Quentin pulled the ring in the lions mouth he had pulled the night before to close the door. Once he was sure the door was closed, Quentin turned around and left the mausoleum
Outside was a bit warmed than the cold secret room, but not by much. Quentin sprinted though the woods, eager to get back to Collinwood as soon as he could before someone saw him running naked through the woods. He kept one hand over his more damageable parts, and with the other arm he brushed branches out of the way. On the way back to Collinwood, he acquired a few small scrapes on his legs, arms, and chest, from briars hanging off vines that were growing on low-hanging tree branches.
Nearing Collinwood, Quentin could smell the smoke from the chimneys in the air. He looked up to see how close he was getting, and in that instant he tripped over tree root and threw both hands into the air to catch himself before he fell. It didn't work. Quentin fell down a hill and rolled, hitting a tree with his back. Quentin looked down at his feet which were red from the cuts they had sustained from the branches on the ground, and noticed that something, most likely a stump, had cut his upper right thigh. Quentin rose from the ground with a grunt, and grimaced as the pain from his fall hit him. Quentin held one hand over the cut on his thigh, and limped back to Collinwood.
Chapter 18
Maggie woke up, still laying on top of John on the couch. She had had the best night of her life last night, so passionate was it that she could compare it to nothing else, not even her time with Joe. She pushed herself up so that she was sitting, and slid off the couch, tying the blanket they had slept under around her. She took another blanket off a nearby chair and covered John with. He wasn't naked, he had his boxers on, but it was cold in the house.
Maggie walked into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, turning it on after she had finished. She sat down at the round kitchen table and put her head in her hands—she was still tired. Leaving the kitchen, Maggie walked down to the end of the hall and opened a door which lead to the bathroom. She went inside and slid the glass door to the right, and turned the shower on and felt the water until it became hot. When it did, she dropped the blanket to the floor, got in and closed the door. She let the warm water fall about her body, and put her head under the faucet to let her hair get wet. Maggie ran her hands over her body to rub whatever dirt she had on her, off.
The door opened and John walked in, closing the door behind him. "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all," Maggie said. John slipped his boxers off and let them fall to the floor. He walked over and opened the sliding glass door, and, after stepping in, closed it again. John stepped behind Maggie and pressed her close to him, kissing the back of her head and then turning her around. "It was great last night," he told her kissing her lips. "Yes, it was," she said after the kiss. John put his hands on Maggie's shoulders and rubbed them, comfortingly.
After the shower, Maggie and John drank a morning cup of coffee together. Then Maggie left and went back to her house. Once there, she changed her clothes and got a few papers together before heading to the Inn. When she arrived, she put her things in her office, as always, and joined Debby behind the counter in the diner.
"So, do anything good last night?" Debby asked, wiping the counter off. "No, not really. I went over to John's house to apologize to him for our fight," Maggie said, tying an apron around her hips. "And?" Debby asked, throwing the rag she was using into the sink. "And what? I said I was sorry, and he said the same, we had some coffee and I left." Maggie didn't know why she didn't tell Debby about what had really happened between her and John last night, but she just didn't feel like she should tell her. "Mmmhmm," Debby said. "What? I'm not lying to you. Why would I do that? I've always told you everything, and if there were something to tell I would have told it. Period." "Fine, fine. You don't have to tell me, I can guess what happened." "Well guess all you want but I will neither confirm nor deny anything." Maggie sat on a stool behind a counter as an older man came in a sat down at one of the tables. Debby went over to take his order.
Quentin opened his eyes as a small thread of bright sunshine shone in through a crack in his drapes and onto his face. He had made it back to Collinwood without being seen, and up to his room as well. He hadn't bothered to dress in night clothes or anything, he was so tired that he simply flopped down in his bed, pulled the sheets over him and went to sleep.
Throwing the sheets off of him, Quentin sat up and rubbed his face. He grimaced a bit from the pain of the injuries he gained from falling in the woods. When he stood straight up, he looked down at his bed. There were a few small spots of blood on the sheets, from his cuts that he had neglected to bandage before flopping into his bed. Turning around, Quentin caught site of the portrait of Maggie's mother that he had stolen the night before, which was sitting propped up on a chair. Maggie hadn't even noticed that it was gone when she returned home—she had rushed in so fast and out so fast she barely noticed anything at all.
Quentin stood there, staring at the portrait for a few moments, before turning around and walking over to his wardrobe. He opened up the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt and some pants, draping them over a chair beside him. "You know, if I weren't confined to this portrait, I would be on you like white on rice," came a voice from behind Quentin. "Frank, aren't we?" he said, not surprised by Maggie's mother's portrait talking to him. He had been expecting it. "It's one of the traits that I had always wished would be passed on to Maggie, but instead she got her fathers shy and quietness. But, yes, I would definitely have been all over you, especially given what I have seen of you now and last night." The portrait looked him up and down. "You know, it's kind of ironic, this situation is. I always preyed on women and wanted their bodies, and here I am, being looked up and down by you," Quentin said, now facing the portrait. He slipped one leg after the other into his pants and then pulled them up and buttoned them. "You have a point there, dear boy. Now, tell me why you took my from my daughters house." "I need you to help me." "Well obviously. You wouldn't have taken me if you didn't need me. Now what do you need me for?" "I am told that you can make a potion that can cure me of my werewolf curse if I release you from your canvas." "It is true, I can make such a potion, but it shall not be cheap." "What do you mean? Certainly you do not want money. What else could you need?" Quentin turned and picked up his shirt and pushed his arm through the sleeves. Pulling the front together, he buttoned it up. "No, I need not money. You see, I want to get out of this canvas, but there is only one way to do that." "What is it?" "Murder. All those murders that have happened in this town, the killer is me." "What? How?" "I made a deal with the devil. The deal was that he would work the spell that would release me from this confinement, but only if I helped to collect souls for his imminent return. I am to kill 7 people, and when the seven are killed, the devil will release me." "Well how many have you killed so far?" Quentin asked, sitting in the chair he had his clothes draped over. "Six, as of this moment." "Six? But only three people have been killed recently." "That is true, but remember those murders a few years back? Yes, those were me to." "How do you know who to kill? Do you just pick someone?" "He tells me who to kill. He wants people with sins, they will make him stronger." "And you is your last victim?" "I thought it would be you, but it's not." "Then who is it?" "John Crosic. And if you want me to help you, you have to kill him for me." "Why can't you do it? You get released every time you have to kill someone don't you? You are more than capable of doing it yourself." "Ah, see, that's the catch. For the last murder, I have to find someone willing to kill the person for me. That is why I have been trying to drive Maggie out of her mind. I mean, I love the girl, she is my daughter after all, but she was really the only person I saw. But now that you need my help, you can do it and I can let my daughter lead a normal life." "You want me to kill the only person that Maggie has loved since Joe died? I can't do that!" "Why not? She'll get over it. I mean, she's not married to the guy like she was to Joe. It was painfully hard for me to kill him when I had to, but I want out so I did it. I have to get rid of my emotions when I do this, or else I would be stuck here forever." "Don't you think that's a bit selfish?" "Oh, and you are one to talk huh? Were you not selfish for your whole life? Treating women as sex toys and what not? Dumping them when you lost interest and picking up another?" "Yes, but I've changed." "No you haven't. You haven't changed a bit, or else I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you right now. You are still selfish because if you hadn't been, you wouldn't have stolen my portrait to use to your own advantage! So don't go off like you are high and mighty because you're not! You're just as selfish as I am!"
Quentin didn't know what to say. She had a point, and he knew it. "Go ahead, tell me I'm right because I know that's what you're thinking. Now, John is to be killed tonight, sometime after 8p.m. It doesn't matter how you kill him, just as long as he is dead by the time you are finished. Leave the body, and it is up to you to not get caught." "What makes you think I am going to do this?" "Because you and I both know that you are a selfish little boy, and you will always get what you want. Now go downstairs and make like nothing has happened. They are going to start worrying about you. Am I talking to a wall here?!? GO!" the portrait shouted at him. Quentin walked over to it and grabbed the frame. Carrying to portrait over to the wardrobe, Quentin opened the wardrobe up and put the portrait inside, closing the door after. Then he left the room.
Chapter 19
The day passed by as boringly as possible for Quentin. He tried to amuse himself with books in the library, but he couldn't keep his mind off of that portrait. By no means did he want to go back upstairs and talk to that thing again, but what it had said to him and asked him to do really got to him, which had never been a problem before. Quentin knew that the portrait was right. He was selfish, and he could never escape that. Even though he had changed so much in the little amount of time that he had been back at Collinwood, one thing about him hadn't changed—he was still a self-loving selfish little child, hiding his fears away deep inside of himself, where he was sure no one could find them, but someone did. Quentin probed his mind, trying desperately to figure out how she did it, how did she know him so well? How did she know what he was thinking at the moment he was thinking it? Did she know him that well? Quentin knew one thing for certain and that was that she knew him only to well, when he didn't even know what her name was, or anything else about her except that she wanted to take away the life that her own daughter was trying to rebuild after years of living a lonely one. How could she be so cruel to do this to her own daughter? How could she tell Quentin not to call her selfish when she was being the same way he was? They were both such hypocrites that it wasn't funny, and Quentin knew this. The biggest thing that he could figure out was whether or not he would choose to be as selfish as Maggie's mother was choosing to be, and to go off and kill John Crosic. He had to be sure that he wasn't caught, and that meant careful planning, which is probably what he should be doing now, given that he would have to kill John in less than 5 hours. How would he be sure that he didn't leave any evidence behind? He couldn't take that long while he was at Johns house, and he had to make sure that Maggie wasn't going to be there, and if she was going over to his house that night, he had to choose whether to do it before she got there, or after she left. The latter would be less painful, because at least if Quentin killed John after Maggie left, John could have told her that he loved her, and Maggie wouldn't have to find his dead and possibly mutilated body when she entered his house. To many things had to be perfect, and there were way to many things that could go wrong. What would Quentin do to make sure that everything went smoothly? She would have to help. Quentin knew that he would have to get Maggie's mother to help him with a spell or something to make sure that everything went according to plan. This would be his way to test her to see if she was willing and strong enough to kill John, or if the reason she was trying to get Quentin to kill him for her was that she lacked the gut to do it herself. After all, she could have had a 2nd party killer kill one of the previous six who were killed, why did she decide to save John for last? Something was up with her trying to get Quentin to do the killing for her, and Quentin was going to find out what it was. But how? Surely she would see through him asking her to help in some way, wouldn't she? Quentin knew that he had to kill John Crosic to escape his curse, but was Quentin willing to sacrifice himself to endless nights of changing into that wild beast in order to save Crosic? He wasn't friends with him, but he did make Maggie happy, and Quentin was glad for that. He had just wanted Maggie to be happy when he got back from Georgia, and she was now, so who was Quentin to take that away from her? Speaking of who's who, who was Maggie's mother to take her daughters happiness away from her? It is a mother's duty to protect their child, and to be sure that they are happy in life, so how could she be so selfish and take away Maggie's happiness! Quentin was never that selfish, was he? He had never taken away someone's life and happiness, had he? Well, there was that one girl in Miami that he had done that to, she was the first to come to mind, but there were countless others, all strewn across the United States.
Quentin had made his mind up, he was going to kill John Crosic. Who would know? He would, and that would be what got to him. He couldn't kill John. Even though he would be rid of his werewolf curse, he would have to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of knowing that he killed the last man that will make Maggie happy. No, he couldn't do it, he couldn't! No power in the world could make him kill John Crosic. But he had to! He had to be rid of the curse! He had lived with it because of something that his stupid great-great grandfather had done because he was selfish, so why shouldn't he be selfish and take something that he wanted and rid himself of the curse! It all made perfect sense! Yes! He would do it and rid himself of the curse, only to continue the selfish line in his family that....would only go on to ruin him. Now he was back to the point he had started at, that he couldn't kill John because Quentin had to stop the selfish line that went through his family, and save future generations from what would ruin them as well.
At the Collinsport Inn, Maggie was leaving for the day. She had untied the apron around her waist and laid it on the counter. Going into her office she grabbed her purse and one file full of bills that needed to be paid. After saying goodbye to Debby, Maggie walked out of the diner and out of the main entrance of the Inn.
Arriving home, Maggie put her purse down on the couch, along with her coat, and the file that she had brought home with her—she would get to that later. Going into the bathroom, Maggie turned the shower on, and felt the water to be sure that it was heating up. She then went into her bedroom and took her gold necklace off, as well as her watch, and laid them on the dresser. She then slipped out of her sweater and pants, before going back into the bathroom.
A half hour later, Maggie emerged from the bathroom. She had taken her shower, dried her hair, and brushed her teeth, and was now going into her bedroom to get dressed. Maggie flipped through her closet full of clothes, trying to find something that she would look good in. Something that wasn't to formal, yet wasn't to casual. She found a nice white blouse, and decided that she would wear that, and laid it on her bed. She then went over to her dresser and opened the third drawer down from the top, and removed a pair of dress pants.
After dressing, Maggie put her necklace and ring back on. She put a new red color of lipstick on that she had bought earlier today on her lunch break, and headed into the living room. Picking up her purse and coat, Maggie turned the lights out and left, locking the door behind her.
Quentin left the library and went back up to his room in the West Wing. He couldn't stand to think about killing John Crosic anymore, and he had to talk to the portrait about it. Opening the door to his room, Quentin walked in, and shut the door behind him, locking it. He then proceeded over to his wardrobe and opened it up, taking the portrait out and sitting it on the chair it had sat on before he put it away. "It's about damn time you took me out of there! I was starting to suffocate," the portrait snapped at Quentin. "You can't suffocate, you don't breathe," Quentin said, sitting down in the chair across from the one the portrait was leaning on. "I'm not going to kill John Crosic for you, so I guess you'll be stuck in there forever." "Oh yes you certainly will! You are going to kill him whether you like it or not! And don't say that you won't, because you will, if I have to take extreme measures to get you to do it." "What are you going to do? Shake your frame at me? Stare at me or something? Because whatever it is that you think you are going to do, you aren't. You're nothing but oil with pigment, that someone splashed onto some paper." "Quentin you will kill John Crosic." "Oh, so you are going to try and annoy me to death are you? Well, there is more than one way to take care of that. Tell me, what would you do if I burned you right now?" "Quentin, you will kill John Crosic." "Is that all you are going to say from now on?" "Quentin, you will kill John Crosic." "Cut the shi—. I will kill John Crosic," Quentin repeated. "That's right. And when will you do it?" "Tonight." "That's right. Now, I suggest that you start planning for this, because I am not going to help you, and if you get caught, it's your ass." "My ass." "And that's a nice ass to waste to. So go over to your desk and make a plan for tonight and be sure that nothing goes wrong." "Nice ass, plan." "That's right." The portrait followed Quentin with its eyes as he got up and walked over to his desk, sitting down at it. He opened a drawer and took out some paper, and picked up a pen. He started scribbling across the paper.
It was now 7:30 p.m., and the clock in Quentin's room struck the half hour mark. Quentin emerged from his closet doorway, and stood in front of his mirror. He was dressed in all black. Black pants, a black shirt, and ski mask to cover his face. Taking the ski mask off and sitting it on the table beside him, Quentin turned around and reached into his wardrobe and took out his long black jacket, that ended just before touching the ground. Quentin picked up the ski mask and stuffed it into one of the pockets on the inside of the jacket. Quentin then picked up the gloves that were laying on the table and stuffed those in another pocket. He then went over to his desk, and quickly scanned over the list of 35 things that needed to be done when he got to Crosic's house. Once he was finished, he picked up the paper and threw it into the fireplace.
Going over to the table in the center of the room, Quentin picked up a rope and a knife, and stuffed the rope in another of the coats inside pockets, and stuck the knife in the knife holder he had fastened around his waist. Taking once last look at the portrait, and receiving a nod telling him he was ready, he picked the portrait up and put it in his closet, and closed the door.
At John Crosic's house, Maggie and John sat in the living room on the couch, cuddled up together. They were holding each other, under a blanket, with a fire blazing the in the fire place, an old move playing on the television. Maggie laid her head down on John shoulder and whispered 'I love you' to him, to which he answered the same. They had grown surprisingly close in the days that had passed since she had had him arrested. Cups, one half full and the other a quarter full, sat on their matching saucers on the coffee table in front of them; the one belonging to Maggie was the less full one—she had been cold that evening for some reason, and she didn't know why. Maggie slipped out from under the blanket and told John that she was going to the bathroom and that she would be right back.
Quentin watched her leave from outside, and after she cleared the corner and started down the hall, Quentin slipped his ski mask on as well as his gloves, and got his rope ready in his hands. Quentin got closer to the large window that he was watching through, and when he heard Maggie close the bathroom door, he took a few steps back. Maggie and John had been watching the movie in the dark, which would only help to hide Quentin when he went in. Quentin took quick steps forward and then jumped just before running into the window. Quentin crashed through the window, the window shattering as he did, and the glass and wood frame went flying everywhere, falling inside on the floor, and outside on the ground.
John was so taken aback, that he didn't know what to do, and Quentin was standing right in front of him before he realized what was happening. In the bathroom, Maggie had just flushed the toilet, and wondered what the noise was. "Wh-who-who are you?" John said, standing up. "What do you want?" John stepped back and tried to take a swing at Quentin, but Quentin blocked Johns punch and hit John in the head, dropping him to the couch. Quentin pulled out the rope and wrapped it around John's neck, and drug him up from the couch so that he was standing straight up in front of Quentin. Quentin pulled the ropes tighter and tighter around John's neck, and John threw his hands up at Quentin's head, trying to hit Quentin so that he would loosen the rope around his neck, but it wasn't working. John then put his hands to his throat and tried to dig his fingers under the rope to pull it loose, but instead he was clawing away at the skin on his neck. Quentin took a tighter hold on the ropes and then started spinning John around, making him trip over the coffee table and fall into the television, knocking tea all over the floor.
Quentin snatched John up and threw him against the wall, and began violently hitting him in the face over and over and over and over and over again until by the time Quentin stopped hitting him, John was knocked out on the floor. Quentin then picked John up, still holding the ropes around his neck, and slapped John a few times until he woke up. Then Quentin started tightening the ropes again—he wanted to watch as John gasped for air. It was becoming an obsession for Quentin, something that he was getting off for doing, something that he wanted to get the most pleasure out of before it was over.
Down the hall, Maggie opened the bathroom door and listened to what was going on out in the living room. She began sobbing, but quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to mute any sounds that might let the killer know that she was there. She silently crept down the hall, all the while tears streaming down her face and falling onto the floor. Maggie approached the corner but was afraid to look around it. She watched in the reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, which shown everything that was going on.
John gasped for air, he was on his last few breaths, and Quentin released the ropes, but only slightly. Just enough for John to draw air in again. Quentin let John take in the air until he was starting to breathe normally again. John wondered it the man was going to let him go, but then he tightened the ropes again.
'Who could this maniac be?' John thought to himself, starting to gasp again. John raised his leg up and stomped on one of Quentin's feet. Quentin let out a yelp, and hit John in the back of the head, and then threw him into one of the book shelves that were built in one of John's walls. The shelves broke, and the books and other items fell to the floor. John felt something falling down his head. It was warm, and he thought it to be blood, which it was.
Around the corner of the hall, Maggie whimpered as she watched what was going on. How could someone be this way? Why did this person want to kill? Maggie wanted to help John, but she didn't want to die so young. She couldn't muster up enough bravery to do anything about what was going on—only enough to stand and watch a reflection of what was happening and cry her eyes out until there were no tears left to cry. Oh how she wanted to do something to save the man that she was now falling in love with. Why did the men she loved have to be killed? Why did she have to suffer through her life and be lonely all the time?
Quentin tightened the ropes once again, and pulled them tighter and tighter and tighter yet. John's arms dropped from his neck and hung limply at his side. He was starting to fade, and this time Quentin would let him go. The gasps now were few and far between, and soon they stopped coming almost altogether, only a gasp per minute or so. Maggie stood around the corner. She had to do something, and even if she stepped out of the hallway and into the living room, it may scare the killer away. Mustering up every ounce of courage she had, she lifted what felt like iron legs, and slowly stepped around the corner. Quentin looked up and saw the fear in her eyes through the ski mask, and something clicked. He was killing her one last chance at happiness, and somehow he knew that he didn't want to do it and that all he wanted was for her to be happy, and to live her life to the fullest.
Quentin released the rope, dropping it to the floor, and ran across the living room. Diving out of the living room window, Quentin landed on the ground and began sprinting through the woods. Suddenly, he was tripped, and he fell to the ground, hitting the base of a tree extremely hard. His head hurt, and he reached up to feel the back of it—there was blood there. Just before he blacked out, Quentin saw many hands coming down to grab him, and yellow-red eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
Quentin had returned home after his little talk with Maggie, and was pondering how he could steal the painting of Maggie's mother. He finally came to the conclusion that he would steal it when she left for John's house, which would be at 6:30 p.m. He would be cutting it close to the time the moon rose, but he had to take that chance.
A hour later, Quentin headed out the door with a bag hanging over his shoulder. He first headed the cemetery, where he went inside of the Collins mausoleum and dropped off the chains. He bolted them to the wall and then left, heading for Maggie's house. When he did reached Maggie house, he hid in the woods, watching her as she stepped out of her front door and locked it. She got into her car and sped off. Quentin came out of the woods and walked up to the door of her house, being sure that no one was watching. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a credit card, which he shoved into the crack between the door and the frame. Fidgeting with it for a little bit, he heard the lock pop. Shoving the card back into his pocket, Quentin turned the door knob and went in.
After closing the door, and locking it, in case Maggie came back because she forgot something, Quentin searched through his bag for a flashlight. When he found one, he pulled it out and turned it on. Waving the light around the room, Quentin looked around. He walked over to the bay window, and found the portrait sitting there where it had been when he was there earlier. He picked the portrait up, and smiled at the thought that he hadn't been caught. Then, he heard the door knob start to turn. He looked over and the door was opening!
Quentin dove behind the couch, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't see him. It was Maggie, and she walked around the front of the couch and into the kitchen. Quentin didn't move. A minute later, Maggie exited the kitchen, carrying a necklace, a locket, that she obviously had forgotten. She turned the light off in the living room and locked the door, shutting it behind her as she went out. Quentin sighed heavily, sighed of relief. When he heard her car pull out of the driveway, Quentin stood up. He walked up to the door and placed his ear up to it, listening for Maggie outside. When he was sure that she was gone, he unlocked the door and opened it. Locking the door again, Quentin walked out, shutting it behind him.
When he got back to Collinwood, at 7, he raced up to his room, through his black coat, bag, and portrait into his room, carefully hiding his portrait under his bed, and rushed back out. He left Collinwood again, not even acknowledging Carolyn and David in the drawing room. He went to the cemetery, and quickly ran into the mausoleum. He pulled the ring in the lions mouth, telling it to hurry up so he could get into the secret room. Once the door was open, he went in, and quickly shut the door behind him. He turned to walk down the steps, but instead fell—the pain was starting.
Quentin felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, and he screamed aloud and it panned throughout his body. He dragged himself across the floor, trying desperately to get to the shackles on the wall across the room. Another sharp pain hit him, and he again yelled out. He balled up so that his head touched his knees, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach. The pain was getting worse. Quentin looked at his hands. They were starting to get harry. He dug his fingers into the floor and attempted to crawl across the floor again. He reached the shackles, and when he tried to pull himself up so that he could chain his wrists in, he couldn't for another sharp pain went throughout his body.
Quentin ripped off his shirt, and watched the wolf hair spread up his arm and down across his breast, down to his waist. His feet were beginning to hurt, he suspected from his feet growing larger and not fitting in his shoes. He took his shoes off, and as yet another sharp pain shot throughout his body, his feet grew to the proper size they were supposed to be in wolf form, and ripped his socks in half. The transformation was coming quicker that Quentin had expected. His muscles grew larger, his hair on his head grew out of control. The teeth in Quentin's mouth grew sharper, fangs growing from his once human sized canines. He was still aware of what was going on, but wouldn't be much longer for the wolf would completely take over. His calf muscles grew larger, ripping his pants at the seams, the two halves falling to the ground. He was completely naked now, the wolf had almost completely taken over. With the last shred of human mind that Quentin had, he threw himself backwards at the wall, holding his wrists up. He hit the wall, his wrists landing in the shackles, and the wall shook, causing the shackles to close around his wrists. This is what he had hoped for.
The transformation was nearly complete, the wild hair traveling past his stomach and through his groin area, around his manhood, and in-between his legs. He howled and snarled as the wolf took over.
Maggie knocked on John Crosic's door. She waited a few seconds and then knocked again. A few seconds more, the door opened. "Maggie!" John said, genuinely surprised. "May I come in John?" Maggie asked, shuffling her feet across the porch boards. "Uh, sure." John opened the screen door for her and moved aside letting her in. He then shut the door and joined her in the living room. "Please, sit down." They both sat. "John I just wanted to—"Maggie stopped. They had both started out saying the same thing, except John had put Maggie's name where she had put his. "You go first," John told Maggie. "O-okay. John I just wanted to—I mean I just wanted to say that—well, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry." Maggie began a bit slowly. "I'm sorry I had you arrested. I'm sorry I chewed you out at the diner, I sorry for everything John. I'm just, just sorry." Maggie finished the speech by blurting, trying to hurry and get everything out before she forgot it. "Me to. I'm sorry for everything. For the diner thing, for scaring you after the crash, for everything," John said with ease. His practicing in front of the mirror had paid off. He had in fact been getting ready that same night to go over to see Maggie. "Well where does this leave us?" Maggie asked. "I guess it leaves us as we were before, as long as you're comfortable with that. It leaves us as.." "...as a couple?" Maggie asked, looking at John and then staring back at the floor. "Yes, as a couple." John looked at Maggie and she looked up, meeting his gaze. He rose from his chair and moved over to the couch to sit next to her. They sat, staring into each others eyes, examining each others soul.
'Could this all be a lie?' Maggie thought, then quickly dismissing the thought from her mind. How could she even think that now? The man had apologized to her, and she should accept that. She knew she should. But, she just had to accept that there would always be some part of her that had those thoughts about John, however untrue they were. John caressed her face with his hand. He ran his thick fingers down her cheek and under her chin. Leaning in, he kissed her gently, and although resisting at first, Maggie soon returned the kiss. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. She didn't resist. They kissed each other with passion, and Maggie ran her hands up and down his back.
Maggie started pulling John's neatly tucked in shirt out of his pants, and then used her hands to unbutton it, her lips never leaving his. He laid back so that his back was flat against the couch cushions. John let Maggie unbutton his shirt, and when she had reached the last button, he lifted up and took the shirt off, tossing it to the floor. Maggie ran one of her hands down his chest, across his muscular breast and washboard abdomen, and kept the other on his face, kissing him all the while. John began to lift up her shirt, and Maggie lifted her arms, allowing John to lift the shirt off easier. He threw it to the floor and it landed on top of his. Maggie kissed John's lips and down his neck. She continued down his chest until she reached the top of his jeans, which she started to unbutton.
While Quentin howled at the moon from inside the mausoleum's secret room, down at the Old House events were happening. In the drawing room of the Old House, a blue light appeared and it got larger and brighter until it filled the room, racing up the stairs and under the shut doors leading to other rooms and out the windows. A portal opened, and five things walked out. They weren't human, and they weren't alive. They were the hunters Andron had told Quentin about, the ones that he told Quentin would come to the Old House.
A face appeared in the portal. It spoke to them: "Akisk loty fredu wesbentaiy. Kisu unt anopel ghusndu btyrnargf. Xesinatao naing luia gerdnty. Gsi! GSI! FUATYE HAGYR OAIJNA! FUGHTY NOA! FUGHTY NOA! FUGHTY NOA!!!!!!"
All the hunters nodded to the face in the portal and turned to search the house. The portal closed behind them.
Two of the hunters went out into the foyer and up the stair case to explore upstairs. One went out into the foyer and headed through the thick iron door leading to the basement. The other two remained on the ground floor, and went exploring. The hunter who went into the basement checked the main room at the foot of the stairs first. It was nothing but a large empty space. It checked every cell but found nothing. It was a good thing that Andron had warned Quentin about chaining himself up at the Old House, for if he had of, the cell that the hunter was in now would have been the one he used, and he would have been caught.
An hour later, after searching over the whole house, the hunters met back in the drawing room. The portal appeared in front of them, and they stepped though, going back to hell.
The morning sun rose and found people all over the place. Maggie was still at John's house—they were both on the couch sleeping under a thick wool blanket, embers in the fireplace giving off what last bit of heat they could muster.
Quentin was still in the secret room of the mausoleum. Even though he couldn't tell, the sun had completely risen. Slowly, the snarls and howls of the wolf died down until the wolf was calm. The wild and thick hair covering Quentin's body slowly receded, leaving him with the hair he had before he changed. His biceps and triceps shown in his arms, well defined, as he grimaced and tightened his muscles from the pain of changing back. The hair from his legs disappeared and his leg muscles tightened, as well as his thigh, abdomen, and chest muscles. The hair from his face was gone now, and his handsome features shone once again. His body was limp against the cold wall, and he shivered from the cold.
Quentin woke up from his unconsciousness and looked around. His wrists hurt, and they were wounded with bruises and cuts from the shackles. Quentin knew that he must have tried to get out of the shackles during the night. Quentin brought his hands together in front of him, the chains on the shackles just long enough for him to be able to unlock himself. He unlocked his right hand first and then his left hand. He trembled from the coldness of the room. He was still completely naked, and as he stood straight up for the first time all night, he felt the cold dampness of the room press against his body. His muscles stayed tight, trying to conserve the heat they did have. His groin area tightened and pulled close to his body, trying to keep all the warmth inside. Quentin hunched over, wrapping his arms around his stomach and kneeling to the ground. He reached over the pile of what was his clothes, and sifted through them, seeing if any of them were salvageable. He could still wear his shirt, even though the arms had been ripped off, and the last four inches or so were shredded. A result of Quentin's thrashing during the night, he was sure.
Quentin walked over to the steps and pushed one aside, pushing the little button underneath of it which opened the door for him to get out. Once the door had opened, Quentin pushed the step back over and walked out of the door way. Turing around, Quentin pulled the ring in the lions mouth he had pulled the night before to close the door. Once he was sure the door was closed, Quentin turned around and left the mausoleum
Outside was a bit warmed than the cold secret room, but not by much. Quentin sprinted though the woods, eager to get back to Collinwood as soon as he could before someone saw him running naked through the woods. He kept one hand over his more damageable parts, and with the other arm he brushed branches out of the way. On the way back to Collinwood, he acquired a few small scrapes on his legs, arms, and chest, from briars hanging off vines that were growing on low-hanging tree branches.
Nearing Collinwood, Quentin could smell the smoke from the chimneys in the air. He looked up to see how close he was getting, and in that instant he tripped over tree root and threw both hands into the air to catch himself before he fell. It didn't work. Quentin fell down a hill and rolled, hitting a tree with his back. Quentin looked down at his feet which were red from the cuts they had sustained from the branches on the ground, and noticed that something, most likely a stump, had cut his upper right thigh. Quentin rose from the ground with a grunt, and grimaced as the pain from his fall hit him. Quentin held one hand over the cut on his thigh, and limped back to Collinwood.
Chapter 18
Maggie woke up, still laying on top of John on the couch. She had had the best night of her life last night, so passionate was it that she could compare it to nothing else, not even her time with Joe. She pushed herself up so that she was sitting, and slid off the couch, tying the blanket they had slept under around her. She took another blanket off a nearby chair and covered John with. He wasn't naked, he had his boxers on, but it was cold in the house.
Maggie walked into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, turning it on after she had finished. She sat down at the round kitchen table and put her head in her hands—she was still tired. Leaving the kitchen, Maggie walked down to the end of the hall and opened a door which lead to the bathroom. She went inside and slid the glass door to the right, and turned the shower on and felt the water until it became hot. When it did, she dropped the blanket to the floor, got in and closed the door. She let the warm water fall about her body, and put her head under the faucet to let her hair get wet. Maggie ran her hands over her body to rub whatever dirt she had on her, off.
The door opened and John walked in, closing the door behind him. "Mind if I join you?" "Not at all," Maggie said. John slipped his boxers off and let them fall to the floor. He walked over and opened the sliding glass door, and, after stepping in, closed it again. John stepped behind Maggie and pressed her close to him, kissing the back of her head and then turning her around. "It was great last night," he told her kissing her lips. "Yes, it was," she said after the kiss. John put his hands on Maggie's shoulders and rubbed them, comfortingly.
After the shower, Maggie and John drank a morning cup of coffee together. Then Maggie left and went back to her house. Once there, she changed her clothes and got a few papers together before heading to the Inn. When she arrived, she put her things in her office, as always, and joined Debby behind the counter in the diner.
"So, do anything good last night?" Debby asked, wiping the counter off. "No, not really. I went over to John's house to apologize to him for our fight," Maggie said, tying an apron around her hips. "And?" Debby asked, throwing the rag she was using into the sink. "And what? I said I was sorry, and he said the same, we had some coffee and I left." Maggie didn't know why she didn't tell Debby about what had really happened between her and John last night, but she just didn't feel like she should tell her. "Mmmhmm," Debby said. "What? I'm not lying to you. Why would I do that? I've always told you everything, and if there were something to tell I would have told it. Period." "Fine, fine. You don't have to tell me, I can guess what happened." "Well guess all you want but I will neither confirm nor deny anything." Maggie sat on a stool behind a counter as an older man came in a sat down at one of the tables. Debby went over to take his order.
Quentin opened his eyes as a small thread of bright sunshine shone in through a crack in his drapes and onto his face. He had made it back to Collinwood without being seen, and up to his room as well. He hadn't bothered to dress in night clothes or anything, he was so tired that he simply flopped down in his bed, pulled the sheets over him and went to sleep.
Throwing the sheets off of him, Quentin sat up and rubbed his face. He grimaced a bit from the pain of the injuries he gained from falling in the woods. When he stood straight up, he looked down at his bed. There were a few small spots of blood on the sheets, from his cuts that he had neglected to bandage before flopping into his bed. Turning around, Quentin caught site of the portrait of Maggie's mother that he had stolen the night before, which was sitting propped up on a chair. Maggie hadn't even noticed that it was gone when she returned home—she had rushed in so fast and out so fast she barely noticed anything at all.
Quentin stood there, staring at the portrait for a few moments, before turning around and walking over to his wardrobe. He opened up the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt and some pants, draping them over a chair beside him. "You know, if I weren't confined to this portrait, I would be on you like white on rice," came a voice from behind Quentin. "Frank, aren't we?" he said, not surprised by Maggie's mother's portrait talking to him. He had been expecting it. "It's one of the traits that I had always wished would be passed on to Maggie, but instead she got her fathers shy and quietness. But, yes, I would definitely have been all over you, especially given what I have seen of you now and last night." The portrait looked him up and down. "You know, it's kind of ironic, this situation is. I always preyed on women and wanted their bodies, and here I am, being looked up and down by you," Quentin said, now facing the portrait. He slipped one leg after the other into his pants and then pulled them up and buttoned them. "You have a point there, dear boy. Now, tell me why you took my from my daughters house." "I need you to help me." "Well obviously. You wouldn't have taken me if you didn't need me. Now what do you need me for?" "I am told that you can make a potion that can cure me of my werewolf curse if I release you from your canvas." "It is true, I can make such a potion, but it shall not be cheap." "What do you mean? Certainly you do not want money. What else could you need?" Quentin turned and picked up his shirt and pushed his arm through the sleeves. Pulling the front together, he buttoned it up. "No, I need not money. You see, I want to get out of this canvas, but there is only one way to do that." "What is it?" "Murder. All those murders that have happened in this town, the killer is me." "What? How?" "I made a deal with the devil. The deal was that he would work the spell that would release me from this confinement, but only if I helped to collect souls for his imminent return. I am to kill 7 people, and when the seven are killed, the devil will release me." "Well how many have you killed so far?" Quentin asked, sitting in the chair he had his clothes draped over. "Six, as of this moment." "Six? But only three people have been killed recently." "That is true, but remember those murders a few years back? Yes, those were me to." "How do you know who to kill? Do you just pick someone?" "He tells me who to kill. He wants people with sins, they will make him stronger." "And you is your last victim?" "I thought it would be you, but it's not." "Then who is it?" "John Crosic. And if you want me to help you, you have to kill him for me." "Why can't you do it? You get released every time you have to kill someone don't you? You are more than capable of doing it yourself." "Ah, see, that's the catch. For the last murder, I have to find someone willing to kill the person for me. That is why I have been trying to drive Maggie out of her mind. I mean, I love the girl, she is my daughter after all, but she was really the only person I saw. But now that you need my help, you can do it and I can let my daughter lead a normal life." "You want me to kill the only person that Maggie has loved since Joe died? I can't do that!" "Why not? She'll get over it. I mean, she's not married to the guy like she was to Joe. It was painfully hard for me to kill him when I had to, but I want out so I did it. I have to get rid of my emotions when I do this, or else I would be stuck here forever." "Don't you think that's a bit selfish?" "Oh, and you are one to talk huh? Were you not selfish for your whole life? Treating women as sex toys and what not? Dumping them when you lost interest and picking up another?" "Yes, but I've changed." "No you haven't. You haven't changed a bit, or else I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you right now. You are still selfish because if you hadn't been, you wouldn't have stolen my portrait to use to your own advantage! So don't go off like you are high and mighty because you're not! You're just as selfish as I am!"
Quentin didn't know what to say. She had a point, and he knew it. "Go ahead, tell me I'm right because I know that's what you're thinking. Now, John is to be killed tonight, sometime after 8p.m. It doesn't matter how you kill him, just as long as he is dead by the time you are finished. Leave the body, and it is up to you to not get caught." "What makes you think I am going to do this?" "Because you and I both know that you are a selfish little boy, and you will always get what you want. Now go downstairs and make like nothing has happened. They are going to start worrying about you. Am I talking to a wall here?!? GO!" the portrait shouted at him. Quentin walked over to it and grabbed the frame. Carrying to portrait over to the wardrobe, Quentin opened the wardrobe up and put the portrait inside, closing the door after. Then he left the room.
Chapter 19
The day passed by as boringly as possible for Quentin. He tried to amuse himself with books in the library, but he couldn't keep his mind off of that portrait. By no means did he want to go back upstairs and talk to that thing again, but what it had said to him and asked him to do really got to him, which had never been a problem before. Quentin knew that the portrait was right. He was selfish, and he could never escape that. Even though he had changed so much in the little amount of time that he had been back at Collinwood, one thing about him hadn't changed—he was still a self-loving selfish little child, hiding his fears away deep inside of himself, where he was sure no one could find them, but someone did. Quentin probed his mind, trying desperately to figure out how she did it, how did she know him so well? How did she know what he was thinking at the moment he was thinking it? Did she know him that well? Quentin knew one thing for certain and that was that she knew him only to well, when he didn't even know what her name was, or anything else about her except that she wanted to take away the life that her own daughter was trying to rebuild after years of living a lonely one. How could she be so cruel to do this to her own daughter? How could she tell Quentin not to call her selfish when she was being the same way he was? They were both such hypocrites that it wasn't funny, and Quentin knew this. The biggest thing that he could figure out was whether or not he would choose to be as selfish as Maggie's mother was choosing to be, and to go off and kill John Crosic. He had to be sure that he wasn't caught, and that meant careful planning, which is probably what he should be doing now, given that he would have to kill John in less than 5 hours. How would he be sure that he didn't leave any evidence behind? He couldn't take that long while he was at Johns house, and he had to make sure that Maggie wasn't going to be there, and if she was going over to his house that night, he had to choose whether to do it before she got there, or after she left. The latter would be less painful, because at least if Quentin killed John after Maggie left, John could have told her that he loved her, and Maggie wouldn't have to find his dead and possibly mutilated body when she entered his house. To many things had to be perfect, and there were way to many things that could go wrong. What would Quentin do to make sure that everything went smoothly? She would have to help. Quentin knew that he would have to get Maggie's mother to help him with a spell or something to make sure that everything went according to plan. This would be his way to test her to see if she was willing and strong enough to kill John, or if the reason she was trying to get Quentin to kill him for her was that she lacked the gut to do it herself. After all, she could have had a 2nd party killer kill one of the previous six who were killed, why did she decide to save John for last? Something was up with her trying to get Quentin to do the killing for her, and Quentin was going to find out what it was. But how? Surely she would see through him asking her to help in some way, wouldn't she? Quentin knew that he had to kill John Crosic to escape his curse, but was Quentin willing to sacrifice himself to endless nights of changing into that wild beast in order to save Crosic? He wasn't friends with him, but he did make Maggie happy, and Quentin was glad for that. He had just wanted Maggie to be happy when he got back from Georgia, and she was now, so who was Quentin to take that away from her? Speaking of who's who, who was Maggie's mother to take her daughters happiness away from her? It is a mother's duty to protect their child, and to be sure that they are happy in life, so how could she be so selfish and take away Maggie's happiness! Quentin was never that selfish, was he? He had never taken away someone's life and happiness, had he? Well, there was that one girl in Miami that he had done that to, she was the first to come to mind, but there were countless others, all strewn across the United States.
Quentin had made his mind up, he was going to kill John Crosic. Who would know? He would, and that would be what got to him. He couldn't kill John. Even though he would be rid of his werewolf curse, he would have to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of knowing that he killed the last man that will make Maggie happy. No, he couldn't do it, he couldn't! No power in the world could make him kill John Crosic. But he had to! He had to be rid of the curse! He had lived with it because of something that his stupid great-great grandfather had done because he was selfish, so why shouldn't he be selfish and take something that he wanted and rid himself of the curse! It all made perfect sense! Yes! He would do it and rid himself of the curse, only to continue the selfish line in his family that....would only go on to ruin him. Now he was back to the point he had started at, that he couldn't kill John because Quentin had to stop the selfish line that went through his family, and save future generations from what would ruin them as well.
At the Collinsport Inn, Maggie was leaving for the day. She had untied the apron around her waist and laid it on the counter. Going into her office she grabbed her purse and one file full of bills that needed to be paid. After saying goodbye to Debby, Maggie walked out of the diner and out of the main entrance of the Inn.
Arriving home, Maggie put her purse down on the couch, along with her coat, and the file that she had brought home with her—she would get to that later. Going into the bathroom, Maggie turned the shower on, and felt the water to be sure that it was heating up. She then went into her bedroom and took her gold necklace off, as well as her watch, and laid them on the dresser. She then slipped out of her sweater and pants, before going back into the bathroom.
A half hour later, Maggie emerged from the bathroom. She had taken her shower, dried her hair, and brushed her teeth, and was now going into her bedroom to get dressed. Maggie flipped through her closet full of clothes, trying to find something that she would look good in. Something that wasn't to formal, yet wasn't to casual. She found a nice white blouse, and decided that she would wear that, and laid it on her bed. She then went over to her dresser and opened the third drawer down from the top, and removed a pair of dress pants.
After dressing, Maggie put her necklace and ring back on. She put a new red color of lipstick on that she had bought earlier today on her lunch break, and headed into the living room. Picking up her purse and coat, Maggie turned the lights out and left, locking the door behind her.
Quentin left the library and went back up to his room in the West Wing. He couldn't stand to think about killing John Crosic anymore, and he had to talk to the portrait about it. Opening the door to his room, Quentin walked in, and shut the door behind him, locking it. He then proceeded over to his wardrobe and opened it up, taking the portrait out and sitting it on the chair it had sat on before he put it away. "It's about damn time you took me out of there! I was starting to suffocate," the portrait snapped at Quentin. "You can't suffocate, you don't breathe," Quentin said, sitting down in the chair across from the one the portrait was leaning on. "I'm not going to kill John Crosic for you, so I guess you'll be stuck in there forever." "Oh yes you certainly will! You are going to kill him whether you like it or not! And don't say that you won't, because you will, if I have to take extreme measures to get you to do it." "What are you going to do? Shake your frame at me? Stare at me or something? Because whatever it is that you think you are going to do, you aren't. You're nothing but oil with pigment, that someone splashed onto some paper." "Quentin you will kill John Crosic." "Oh, so you are going to try and annoy me to death are you? Well, there is more than one way to take care of that. Tell me, what would you do if I burned you right now?" "Quentin, you will kill John Crosic." "Is that all you are going to say from now on?" "Quentin, you will kill John Crosic." "Cut the shi—. I will kill John Crosic," Quentin repeated. "That's right. And when will you do it?" "Tonight." "That's right. Now, I suggest that you start planning for this, because I am not going to help you, and if you get caught, it's your ass." "My ass." "And that's a nice ass to waste to. So go over to your desk and make a plan for tonight and be sure that nothing goes wrong." "Nice ass, plan." "That's right." The portrait followed Quentin with its eyes as he got up and walked over to his desk, sitting down at it. He opened a drawer and took out some paper, and picked up a pen. He started scribbling across the paper.
It was now 7:30 p.m., and the clock in Quentin's room struck the half hour mark. Quentin emerged from his closet doorway, and stood in front of his mirror. He was dressed in all black. Black pants, a black shirt, and ski mask to cover his face. Taking the ski mask off and sitting it on the table beside him, Quentin turned around and reached into his wardrobe and took out his long black jacket, that ended just before touching the ground. Quentin picked up the ski mask and stuffed it into one of the pockets on the inside of the jacket. Quentin then picked up the gloves that were laying on the table and stuffed those in another pocket. He then went over to his desk, and quickly scanned over the list of 35 things that needed to be done when he got to Crosic's house. Once he was finished, he picked up the paper and threw it into the fireplace.
Going over to the table in the center of the room, Quentin picked up a rope and a knife, and stuffed the rope in another of the coats inside pockets, and stuck the knife in the knife holder he had fastened around his waist. Taking once last look at the portrait, and receiving a nod telling him he was ready, he picked the portrait up and put it in his closet, and closed the door.
At John Crosic's house, Maggie and John sat in the living room on the couch, cuddled up together. They were holding each other, under a blanket, with a fire blazing the in the fire place, an old move playing on the television. Maggie laid her head down on John shoulder and whispered 'I love you' to him, to which he answered the same. They had grown surprisingly close in the days that had passed since she had had him arrested. Cups, one half full and the other a quarter full, sat on their matching saucers on the coffee table in front of them; the one belonging to Maggie was the less full one—she had been cold that evening for some reason, and she didn't know why. Maggie slipped out from under the blanket and told John that she was going to the bathroom and that she would be right back.
Quentin watched her leave from outside, and after she cleared the corner and started down the hall, Quentin slipped his ski mask on as well as his gloves, and got his rope ready in his hands. Quentin got closer to the large window that he was watching through, and when he heard Maggie close the bathroom door, he took a few steps back. Maggie and John had been watching the movie in the dark, which would only help to hide Quentin when he went in. Quentin took quick steps forward and then jumped just before running into the window. Quentin crashed through the window, the window shattering as he did, and the glass and wood frame went flying everywhere, falling inside on the floor, and outside on the ground.
John was so taken aback, that he didn't know what to do, and Quentin was standing right in front of him before he realized what was happening. In the bathroom, Maggie had just flushed the toilet, and wondered what the noise was. "Wh-who-who are you?" John said, standing up. "What do you want?" John stepped back and tried to take a swing at Quentin, but Quentin blocked Johns punch and hit John in the head, dropping him to the couch. Quentin pulled out the rope and wrapped it around John's neck, and drug him up from the couch so that he was standing straight up in front of Quentin. Quentin pulled the ropes tighter and tighter around John's neck, and John threw his hands up at Quentin's head, trying to hit Quentin so that he would loosen the rope around his neck, but it wasn't working. John then put his hands to his throat and tried to dig his fingers under the rope to pull it loose, but instead he was clawing away at the skin on his neck. Quentin took a tighter hold on the ropes and then started spinning John around, making him trip over the coffee table and fall into the television, knocking tea all over the floor.
Quentin snatched John up and threw him against the wall, and began violently hitting him in the face over and over and over and over and over again until by the time Quentin stopped hitting him, John was knocked out on the floor. Quentin then picked John up, still holding the ropes around his neck, and slapped John a few times until he woke up. Then Quentin started tightening the ropes again—he wanted to watch as John gasped for air. It was becoming an obsession for Quentin, something that he was getting off for doing, something that he wanted to get the most pleasure out of before it was over.
Down the hall, Maggie opened the bathroom door and listened to what was going on out in the living room. She began sobbing, but quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to mute any sounds that might let the killer know that she was there. She silently crept down the hall, all the while tears streaming down her face and falling onto the floor. Maggie approached the corner but was afraid to look around it. She watched in the reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, which shown everything that was going on.
John gasped for air, he was on his last few breaths, and Quentin released the ropes, but only slightly. Just enough for John to draw air in again. Quentin let John take in the air until he was starting to breathe normally again. John wondered it the man was going to let him go, but then he tightened the ropes again.
'Who could this maniac be?' John thought to himself, starting to gasp again. John raised his leg up and stomped on one of Quentin's feet. Quentin let out a yelp, and hit John in the back of the head, and then threw him into one of the book shelves that were built in one of John's walls. The shelves broke, and the books and other items fell to the floor. John felt something falling down his head. It was warm, and he thought it to be blood, which it was.
Around the corner of the hall, Maggie whimpered as she watched what was going on. How could someone be this way? Why did this person want to kill? Maggie wanted to help John, but she didn't want to die so young. She couldn't muster up enough bravery to do anything about what was going on—only enough to stand and watch a reflection of what was happening and cry her eyes out until there were no tears left to cry. Oh how she wanted to do something to save the man that she was now falling in love with. Why did the men she loved have to be killed? Why did she have to suffer through her life and be lonely all the time?
Quentin tightened the ropes once again, and pulled them tighter and tighter and tighter yet. John's arms dropped from his neck and hung limply at his side. He was starting to fade, and this time Quentin would let him go. The gasps now were few and far between, and soon they stopped coming almost altogether, only a gasp per minute or so. Maggie stood around the corner. She had to do something, and even if she stepped out of the hallway and into the living room, it may scare the killer away. Mustering up every ounce of courage she had, she lifted what felt like iron legs, and slowly stepped around the corner. Quentin looked up and saw the fear in her eyes through the ski mask, and something clicked. He was killing her one last chance at happiness, and somehow he knew that he didn't want to do it and that all he wanted was for her to be happy, and to live her life to the fullest.
Quentin released the rope, dropping it to the floor, and ran across the living room. Diving out of the living room window, Quentin landed on the ground and began sprinting through the woods. Suddenly, he was tripped, and he fell to the ground, hitting the base of a tree extremely hard. His head hurt, and he reached up to feel the back of it—there was blood there. Just before he blacked out, Quentin saw many hands coming down to grab him, and yellow-red eyes sparkling in the moonlight.