Chapter 4
When the room changed he would be free. Free to be the Master of Collinwood, to have all the money he wanted, to have all the women he wanted.
He would live the life he was meant to.
All the mistakes he had made in this reality would be left behind. No more wrangling for the inheritance that was rightfully his. No more mad wife or cursing sister-in-law. No more rubbing shoulders with people like Hanley. No more Barnabas. No more Carolyn.
All he had to do was take his portrait from its hiding place and take it with him. He had to take it with him. It would be too dangerous to leave it behind.
"Do you know that I am moving to California?" Kathy Resch said while Barnabas arranged her hair so that her throat was clear.
"California" Barnabas asked with mild dismay.
"I got a job offer. Do you...do you mind my going?"
"Well, I wouldn't know " Barnabas confessed "California. They are all crazy there. Hot tubs, est, Jerry Brown, what not?"
"You don't like California?"
"What can you say about a place that has given us Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan and Jerry Brown?"
"You exaggerate."
"I do not."
"You'd better I stayed here."
Barnabas gave off a self deprecating laugh. "No, if you got a job offer, you should go. The job market is tight enough already."
"Do you mind my leaving you?"
"No." His fingers moved over her neck. "Don't be hurt, but you can be replaced very easily. For this, I mean. But I enjoyed talking to you."
"I keep pestering you all the time. Coming to you with my problems or just forcing you to listen to my crazy theories."
"That's what I am here for. I did not expect to take your blood for free."
"Maybe you can come visit me there."
"No. I am allergic to mellow talk. I hear too much of it and I get this urge to smash hot tubs."
Her throat was exposed properly. He nipped at it and felt her find a more comfortable position. She was calm, and so was he.
He wondered still how it could feel so easy, so comfortable. He still remembered how it had been at the beginning, when his anger and hear made him deal death needlessly... when he strangled his victims to punish them for his own curse...
Thank God, those times were over...
He couldn't repress a shudder as she went into the room where his portrait was hidden. God, how he hated to look at that thing. Old, wrinkled, rotten, undignified. The lips twisted into a sardonic grin as if a ghastly joke was being played on him.
Why did he hate it so? That portrait would allow him to live forever. To be always young and handsome. Always charming. to remain unchanged, untouched by anything.
He should be glad of it. Should be grateful to Petofi for his gift. Yet he hated it.
But he couldn't afford to leave it behind. Either its power did not reach across realities, or if it did, anything could happen to it while he was away.
All he had to do was pick it up, and he could kiss sweet Carolyn goodbye.
He opened the door. The portrait was there, grinning at him, enjoying still the same ghastly joke.
"What is it with you?" he asked it without rancor "what do you know that I don't?"
"He knows that you are not going anywhere" Roger stepped out, a gun in his hand. "Not into Parallel Time, at least."
Quentin began a startled movement, but it was checked by the muzzle of the gun pointing straight at the portrait.
"Don't move or I'll shoot."
Roger would shoot. He loved firearms...
Roger had him. he hated it., but it did not change the fact.
"Let me go." he pleaded "You never wanted Carolyn to marry me in the first place."
"Carolyn wants you to stay with her, and that's enough for me. Turn around."
"Turn around? What for?"
"Just that. Turn around."
Quentin obeyed, stealing one last glance at his portrait. The grin had widened. He could almost hear Petofi's laughter...
Roger hit in in the head. Quentin collapsed on the ground.
Grinning with satisfaction, Roger picked up the portrait. Carolyn would be proud of him.
"Is it true that there was a wreck of a pirate galleon in this area?' the young man looked at the coastline. Hard to tell at night, but the romantic atmosphere of the tale he was hearing was much better than clear vision..
"It wasn't a pirate galleon. It was rumrunners" Derek explained patiently.
"Rumrunners?"
:"They were special, those rumrunners. They were Russian refugees. They had fallen on hard times. Instead of opening restaurants or taking menial jobs like other refugees did, they turned to crime. I think that they justified it as a way to raise quick cash for restoring the monarchy... They had some of the crown jewels with them..."
"But you said that they had come on hard times... Why not sell the jewels then?"
"They considered them a sacred trust. Mother Russia and all that... They hoped to use them in the coronation of the next czar."
"And they kept them in the boat?"
"In the safe. They had retreated to the boat preparing for the big battle. Somebody tried to take over their territory and they were driven to take a last stand on their boat. They lost the battle, and the boat was sunk. All the crew died, and the jewels ended up at the bottom of the ocean."
"And those are the Russian crown jewels?"
"Not all of them. But enough of them."
George decided to keep Derek honest, whether Derek liked it or not. He butted in. "What con are you working this time, Derek?" he asked, smiling.
"The Russian Crown jewels" the young man answered, trying hard not to laugh. "he tells a pretty yarn."
George guffawed "you overreached yourself, Derek. No one is going to believe that one."
"But it is true!" Derek protested "the jewels are down there!"
"Derek why not try selling something that is easier to believe in? Russian crown jewels, indeed.!"
"I heard if from one of the gunmen involved. He was drunk and he told me all about it."
"Derek, try to sell something that people believe it exists."
Derek went back home, grumbling. When for once he told the truth, no one believed him. If he had sold a phony map pointing to a sunken buccaneer ship and promised Spanish doubloons they would jump at the opportunity. But the Russian jewels would stay at the bottom of the sea forever.
Laugher...cruel laughter. Petofi's laugher, Aristide's laughter...
They were laughing at him. And Carl. And Jenny, And Magda...
"Did you think that you could escape us?" they said "You actually thought that you could do it?"
The stand was now empty. Carolyn had his portrait now. He could never escape her.
"No, you won't escape, dear Quentin."
Quentin sat on the floor, his head in his hands. What would he do? What could he do? For as long as Carolyn lived, he would be her slave...
But Carolyn would not live forever. When she died he would be free.
"Free to get your self into more of the same trouble" they answered. "how many traps have you fallen into before this? How many more will you fall in? You just can't help yourself."
They were right. He knew it. Carolyn's death would free him, but before he knew it, he'd be in hock to someone else. He lacked the willpower to do better...
"That's the secret of the painting, Quentin" Carl said. "you cannot change while it exists. You never learn anything, you never grow nor develop. Just as you were in 1897, you will be. Forever."
"Forever young. Forever handsome" Magda said "Forever dumb."
Well, at last he was showing a profit. After all these months, Chris Jennings had become a business success.
And when you considered what else had been going on at that time, it was even more remarkable.
Soon he would be able to settle down to a normal life. Or something resembling it.
Well, who was he to complain? He could have had the whole cure and had passed it up because it would take too long and because he was making money at the detective agency using his shape-changing abilities. Considering the nightmare that his life had been until he had learned to control himself, his troubles now were nothing.
Barnabas had been right about that. You cannot go on blaming your curse when it is clear that you should learn judgment, self-control, and other virtues that never were praised enough.
Tom hadn't possessed him because of the curse. He had possessed him because he had given way to hatred and resentment.
He shuddered. Tom. What he had known about that diseased mind was fig tingeing. And the worst part was how much of himself he recognized in it.
Tom and him had been indistinguishable as children. Why had Tom been stricken while he had been spared? What had made Tom's mind snap so that he would relish the part of the hunter? Hunter after the biggest game of all...
He knew of that girl that Tom had killed. There probably had been others. What he had tried to do to Angelique and Sandy showed how he had done it. How many more would have been if hadn't met Angelique?
Could he have ended up like Tom? Kidnapping girls and setting them loose in the woods so he could hunt them...
Tom had eaten human flesh. And not only in wolf form...
He threw his pencil in disgust. Would he ever be able to get Tom out of his mind? If he couldn't forget those days when Tom had possessed him, how could he expect others to forget? How could he expect Amy to react normally to him?
Give it time, Barnabas had said. But even Barnabas could not look at him without remembering what had been done to Phillip.
"Barnabas is still quiet." Maggie commented.
"Not a peep" Sabrina said "And he'll probably stay that way."
"I wish I had your confidence." Maggie grumbled "I have a hunch that he will be making news before long. I know him. If he can find a way to make a nuisance of himself, he will."
"Come on, you are being paranoid."
Maggie sighed, irritated. "I don't like it. I have this idea that in the middle of the campaign someone will come up with questions about him. Then suddenly there will be stories about girls being attacked and found dazed with two small wounds in their throats."
"But why would that happen?"
"Because this campaign is such an important one for me. That's why."
