Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 39: BARNABAS AND THE OTHER CURSED COLLINS
"I must say, it is rather careless of Billy to leave you alone like this," Nicholas said smoothly to Maggie, as they creaked down the corridor together. "You could've been trampled."
"He didn't mean to abandon me," Maggie insisted. "The guests tore between us, and we were separated. I just hope that he didn't get trampled."
"I'm sure Billy is fine," Nicholas said nonchalantly. "Sea rats know a thing or two about abandoning ships." The warlock lightly laughed, as though he weren't insulting her boyfriend.
When the two rounded the next corner, Nicholas received a sudden harsh blow on the right side of his face, nearly knocking him senseless.
Maggie's boyfriend emerged, holding a now shattered bust he used to smash Nicholas' face. "I'm fine, Nicky," he drawled. "And the name's Willie."
Nicholas glared at the young man, his affront boiling over. "You lowly filth." The warlock clawed his fingers, aiming a silent curse at his rival. But to his bafflement, the spell had no effect.
"Are you hurting him!" Maggie rallied to her boyfriend's defense.
"I am the aggrieved party!" Nicholas retorted heatedly. "I was merely protecting myself."
"I'm okay, Maggie." Willie stepped closer to her. "Now it's my turn."
Sliding something down his sleeve, Willie stabbed at Nicholas with an ice pick or perhaps it was a sharp needle. It didn't really matter to the warlock because he had already used magic to strengthen his skin against any mortal attack.
The useless implement broke in Billy's hand. Nicholas only looked at his rival with a bemused and pompous smirk.
"Is that all you got, boy?"
But before he could finish his gloating, Maggie up and slugged him in the face, right where Willie had already attacked.
"Run!" the frantic house maid yelled at her lover.
Nicholas was attracted to fire, especially in his women. But this mortal had raised her hand against him. She would have to suffer for it.
Clawing his fingers once more, the warlock directed his fury at Maggie. As the curse formed in his slightly addled mind, little Billy leapt onto his back. The fool was wrapping a cord around his neck, obviously trying to strangle him.
A pointless endeavor, but Nicholas was glad for it. Let the little rats fight him. He wanted to show them how pointless their struggles were.
Ignoring the fool on his back, the warlock cast his spell on Maggie. He would kill her. Not permanently, just for a moment. Just long enough to watch the scrawny sea rat on his back crumble into hopeless despair.
However, as he cast his spell, a peculiar thing happened. Or rather, nothing at all happened. The warlock couldn't even feel the magic leaving his body. His eyes went wide.
"Ah!" Nicholas realized that indeed the magic hadn't left him at all.
His curse was tearing through his own soul like a bullet tore through flesh. The warlock crumbled to the floor, Willie hopping off his back as he fell.
And then with barely even a twitch of warning, the warlock's body exploded as the visage of a giant smoky raven escaped through the ceiling, disappearing without even a sound.
Maggie balked at the unexpected display. But apparently Nicholas was gone.
"Willie, are you alright?" She tightly enfolded him in her arms.
"Y-Yeah, baby." Willie held her closely.
Parting from their embrace, Willie leaned over the toppled body of Nichols Blair. Pushing him over onto his back, Maggie winced, but Willie actually chuckled. Dying didn't come easy to warlocks, but when it did, it hit hard.
His once coifed and refined countenance had shriveled, leaving behind a haggard sunken parody of the vibrant man he'd been in life.
Still smirking, Willie reached down to the corpse's neck.
"What are you doing?" Maggie asked a little horrified.
Willie tugged on a small golden chain, struggling a little when it got caught on Nicky's goatee, but ultimately pulling it free. He dangled Josette's medallion in front of Maggie's face.
"We're keepin' this," Willie drawled.
"The medallion?" Maggie was perplexed.
"Yeah." Willie couldn't stop smirking. "When Nicky did his little cat pawing fingers at me, I felt it get hot. Like ya said before when you thought all of the witches were 'round. So, I figured it was workin' and the magic couldn't get ta me."
Maggie nodded; she had become fluent in Willie rambling.
"So, when he started scratching at you, I wanted to get between the two of ya. But he was goin' too fast so I hafta get creative."
Maggie could only stare.
"Anyways, if it can keep magic out, I figure it should hold magic in. I mean, same idea, right?"
It was Maggie's turn to chuckle. "You have to tell Julia about this."
She tenderly kissed him.
"Wait, Willie, what was the story with that dodgy bird?" A brogue voice cut in.
The couple jerked - Jason had sauntered around the corner.
"Jason!" Willie balked. "Didja see somethin'? I-I didn' notice."
"Ya mean other than that dandy you and the lady were jumpin' disolvin' into mist," Jason smarmed.
Willie and Maggie whirled in unison, directing their attention back to the warlock's corpse, just in time to see it evaporate into nothingness.
"You do meet all kinds in Collinsport," Jason continued smugly. "I doubt you'll even believe what I've been up to these last two evenings."
"You'd be surprised," Willie muttered.
"Yeah," Maggie cut in. "We're pretty open minded these days."
The Irishman gave her a searching glance. "I s'pose you are. You gave that reprobate a chance." He gestured toward Willie.
"Did ya see where the bird flew off to, Jason?" Willie asked.
"Ya mean after you killed the dandy?" Jason smirked. "Look to me it flew off toward the ceiling."
"Great, thanks for the help," Willie grumbled. "So, are we gonna have problems, Jason?"
"Why are you even in Collinwood?" Maggie pressed the old con.
"To surprise Liz." Jason grinned deviously. "And don't trouble yaself over tonight. I for one don't intend to involve meself with this nonsense any longer. When it comes to this sort of voodoo, I'm keepin' me nose clean."
Willie nodded, relaxing a little. "You're right, it's a rigged game."
"I think you should stay with us, Jason," Maggie said reluctantly. "You shouldn't be causing any trouble right now."
"Ay, too many damn ghosts," Jason consented. "Some of the rudest company I've ever kept."
Willie and Maggie blinked at his words. Who'd have guessed that dealing with Jason McGuire would be the easiest part of the evening?
"We hafta check on Barnabas and Julia," Willie told Maggie.
"Yeah," Maggie murmured.
As they journeyed down the passages with Jason, Maggie felt a charge in the air. She couldn't see them, but she knew the spirits were with them. She felt eyes watching her. As unnervingly aware of them as she was, she somehow wasn't scared.
Perhaps she had gotten used to hauntings.
Staring down into the cavernous pit of material existence, Diabolos, obscured by the hood of his black cloak, sneered in disgust. Nicholas Blair was always pathetic, but this latest defeat was intolerable.
Any of his disciples should be unmatched in the mortal world. He certainly gave them enough power, not that it was for free. Still, Nicholas was defeated. Not by a horde of righteous paladins, or by a mob of angry peasants.
No, all it took to kill the immortal Mr. Blair was a fortunate accident. Perpetrated by a couple of servants barely more experienced than children.
Diabolos pondered how he should punish Nicholas.
"Master." A feminine voice reached his ears.
Gazing up, the ruler of the netherworld saw her - Angelique. She was no longer in her homely Cassandra disguise. The long golden locks had returned. She wore a ragged white dress, but her blue eyes were still vivid, sparkling in determination. And with a wicked confidence.
"That boy you took as a pet actually saved your soul," Diabolos spoke through his hood. "Yet here you return. Perhaps you merely enjoy my company?"
"Joe Haskell may have broken our contract," Angelique said steadily. "But we still have business to discuss."
Great pillars of flame erupted around the pair. Angelique winced but held firm.
"I have no business with a traitorous thief!" Diabolos roared.
"You will bargain with anyone provided they have something you want!" Angelique barely held her ground.
Though, Diabolos was disappointed in her for squandering her potential yet again, there was something in her eyes that captured his attention.
"Nicholas is not the only one who is tarnishing your mighty name," the witch said solemnly.
Beth noticed footsteps echoing through the West Wing, along with the darkened presence of a cursed warlock.
The West Wing was not the only section of Collinwood that was under attack. Most of the Great House had fallen into turmoil.
"It seems that wretched forces are assailing the family home, dear Beth," Quentin mocked from behind the wall. "What could this mean for us?"
"No," Beth said, more to herself. "We still have Josette."
Barnabas couldn't see a thing. He was surrounded by pitch darkness. He did not know where he was. A tunnel? Another realm? He didn't even know how he got here.
He and Julia had dispatch Angelique. Then rather suddenly, nothingness enveloped him. Something like - dark shadows.
He felt utterly alone. He couldn't see Julia - nor Stiles.
"Barnabas!"
He heard Julia's voice. But she sounded faraway. Barnabas couldn't tell where she was calling from.
"Barnabas?"
"Julia!" He finally moved his legs, but he didn't know where he was going. "Julia where are you!? I can't see!"
This is Angelique's doing, Barnabas thought. Her final vengeance. My punishment for destroying her. I suppose I do not belong in this world any more than she. I am just as much an abomination. I should have died centuries ago.
"Barnabas!" Julia's voice rang through the darkness, piercing his woeful thoughts.
In a startling flash, Barnabas found himself in light, thankfully out of the dark numbing void. What more, he was facing Julia. It was like they were never separated. But Barnabas was certain that they were.
Julia was relieved to see him. Her face beamed in gratitude.
"Oh, Barnabas." She threw her arms around him. "Wha - What just happened?"
"I do not know." Barnabas took note of their surroundings as he held her.
They were in a furnished bedroom in Collinwood. Barnabas would recognize the decor anywhere. A few of the pieces in use here were cherished antiques that Elizabeth displayed throughout the Great House.
Inside Barnabas' arms, Julia looked around the room. "How did we get in here?"
"The shadows I would imagine," said Barnabas.
"Like teleportation?" Julia wondered.
"That might be an explanation," Barnabas said wearily.
Reluctantly, Julia let go of him. "We need to get back to the party - no, wait! We need to find Stiles first!"
The lighting in the room captured Barnabas' attention. He noticed they were proper gas lamps. Not the modern reproductions he'd grown accustomed to seeing in the Great House.
"Julia -" He was cut off by the sudden opening of the bedroom door.
A thin woman with blonde pinned up hair and dressed in a late nineteenth century blue dress came casually into the room, like she lived there. Rummaging through some belongings, she started packing on the bed.
Julia watched her, befuddled. She'd never seen this woman before. But even if she was a stranger here for the party, Julia would still expect some kind of reaction. "Excuse me, Miss. What are you doing here? Are you here for the party?"
The woman ignored her. She seemed oblivious to Julia's presence. Barnabas thought she seemed heavily distracted in general. The woman hardly seemed to notice anything else in the room. She merely collected clothing from the closet and neatly packed them.
"Miss?" Julia watched confused as the woman looked out the window with an unreadable expression, then carefully placed a hat on her head. The doctor stepped up behind her. "Miss?" She reached for the woman's shoulder - but her hand streamed right through.
Julia recoiled in shock, convinced she was a ghost.
"B-Barnabas what is happening?"
Barnabas kept himself cool and collected. "Julia, look around you. Look at her."
Julia observed the woman's period clothing. Stiles excluded; Roger wasn't holding a costume ball.
"I think we have somehow been transported to the past," said Barnabas.
"What?" Julia was breathless.
"I believe those shadows took us here," Barnabas went on.
Before Julia could respond, a knock came from the door. The blonde woman heard it and called to come in.
A man entered, looking even more like a period piece with his late Victorian suit, cloak and mutton chops. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the blonde woman. He didn't acknowledge Barnabas or Julia.
He came up to the woman from behind and held her in his arms, giving her a light peck on the cheek.
"You decided to come with me, huh?" the man sound rather pleased.
But the woman looked more solemn. "Yes."
"Well, you don't sound too enthusiastic about it," the man lightly chided.
The woman turned and faced the man, a no-nonsense look on her face. There was nothing teasing or lighthearted about her expression, dramatically contrasting with the man.
"Quentin, why do you want me to go with you?" she asked point blank.
"Are you serious?" The man, Quentin, seemed rather thrown by her solemness.
"Yes." Her serious tone hadn't faltered. She wanted nothing but honesty from him.
"I think it's been obvious for a long time," Quentin said gently. "I love you, Beth."
"I see." The woman, Beth, turned away from him.
But the man, Quentin, halted her.
"Hey, now, what's the matter with you?" He tenderly took her hand.
"I had a great deal of time to think about us," Beth said, somewhat shakily, guiltily. "Since the other night."
"And?" Quentin pressed.
"If we're going to go away together, Quentin, we must start by being honest with each other," Beth demanded.
"I don't know what you mean," Quentin said innocently.
But as the scene unfolded, Barnabas and Julia both began to suspect that this man Quentin was a bit of a cad.
"You don't want me to go with you because you love me," Beth said firmly. "Because I'm not sure you do, Quentin. I'm not sure you love anyone."
"That isn't true," Quentin denied, turning away from her.
"You want me with you because you are the kind of person who can't ever be alone, or do anything alone," Beth continued. "People don't mean anything to you, Quentin. You used them. And when you're tired and bored with them, you discard them in favor of new ones."
With a stunned expression on his face, Quentin asked, "If that's the way you feel, why you decide to come with me?"
With a pained look, Beth answered. "I love you, and I care about what happens to you. Every instinct of mine tells me not to go. But I'm going with you anyway."
Julia watched Beth empathically, understanding her dilemma. At times, Julia felt the exact same way about Barnabas. But theirs was a different scenario, of course.
Feeling much encouraged, Quentin reached out for Beth again. "But you won't regret this. Believe me, you won't regret it."
He pulled her into a sensuous kiss and tried to sooth her shaky nerves. Once they finished, an optimistic Quentin said, "Now, let me take your bags to the carriage."
"No, not yet," Beth said anxiously. "There's something I have to do before I go."
Grabbing her arm, a puzzled Quentin asked, "What is it?"
"A personal matter in Collinsport," Beth replied.
"No, Beth, there isn't time," Quentin pleaded, clutching her shoulders desperately. "Look, it's going to be dark in a few minutes. We have to get out of here."
"I'm sorry, Quentin," Beth said firmly. "But I must go."
She tried to break free from his hold, but Quentin refused to release her.
"Beth! No! No!"
"Please, Quentin, let me go."
"Not until you tell me what it is you have to do in town!" Quentin demanded.
"I can't tell you!" Beth argued.
"Then forget it and come with me!" Quentin said hysterically.
"It will only take a few minutes." Beth broke free from him, but Quentin roughly grabbed her again.
"Don't you understand, we don't have a few minutes!" Quentin grew more hysterical.
"Why not?" Beth cried.
"Because it's getting dark out!" Quentin shouted. "And the gypsies told me by tonight -"
He didn't finish his sentence. Suddenly, the man Quentin started wallowing, doubling over in agony. He staggered helplessly around the room.
"Quentin, what is it!" Beth cried.
"Pain," Quentin said breathlessly, stumbling toward the bed. "I never felt anything like it - it's like tearing my insides!" Wobbling on his knees, Quentin cried, "I can't bear it, Beth!"
Grabbing Quentin worriedly, Beth said, "There must be something I can do!"
Staggering around the room desperately, Quentin cried, "I feel like I'm going to die!"
"No!" Beth sobbed.
"Beth, get a doctor, quick!" Quentin pleaded.
"Quentin!" Beth urgently left the room to call for help.
"Before it's too late!" With breathless screams and agonizing pain, Quentin collapsed to the floor. His entire body shook with violent spasms, as though he was suffering through some form of cardiac arrest.
Julia's first and best instinct was to examine him, to provide medical aid.
But Quentin's body began to transform. A pelt of black animal fur sprouted all over his flesh. His face morphed into an animal's - some wild dog - a wolf. His mouth twisted into a snarl as fangs forced their way through his gums. And his fingers hooked as sharp talons sprouted from his fingertips.
Julia was horrified by the grotesque sight. Barnabas was more transfixed, fascinated and a little spellbound.
A creature that used to be the man Quentin rose to his feet, looking feral and triumphant, silhouetted by moonlight from the window.
Barnabas instinctively placed himself between the creature and Julia. He needn't have bothered; the beast was as oblivious to their presence as everyone else.
Cruel sinister cackling mocked the pair, and strange music began to reverberate around them. A sinister piece and very powerful. Something one would hear coming out of an old gramophone.
Shadowy darkness enveloped them once more. The lady doctor clung on to the former vampire, not wanting to be separated again. The room and the wolf monster melted into the darkness. The mad cackling and the sinister music grew louder, increasing in both tone and tempo, becoming psychically painful to hear.
"What's happening, Barnabas?" Julia shouted to be heard over the cacophony. "What's going on?"
"I don't know, Julia," Barnabas said honestly.
"How do we get back?" Julia wondered. "And who's laughing at us?"
"Barnabas?" A voice broke through the cruel laughter and manic music. A sweet demur voice that Barnabas knew and loved.
"Josette!" he called.
The tingling melody from Josette's music box sliced through the haunted music and laughter.
"Follow my music, Barnabas."
"Follow her music?" Julia frowned. "We don't know what direction it's coming from."
"Just follow me, Julia." Barnabas took her hand, pulling her forward.
The dark shadows still spread around them endlessly, echoing with menacing laughter and haunted music. But with Julia, Barnabas trudged his way through it. As they moved forward, Josette's tingling music grew louder, drowning out the mad cackling and dreary dirge.
Gripping Julia's hand more tightly, Barnabas quickened his pace.
Josette's music was now the only sound he could hear. Barnabas knew he was getting closer.
"Josette!"
The void of shadows evaporated. Barnabas and Julia found themselves in the portrait room in Collinwood. Josette was there to greet them. Her sparkling translucent form shown vividly in the dark paneled room. Her music was now flowing lightly in the background, almost unnoticeable.
"I am glad you have returned safely, Barnabas. You as well, Julia."
"Josette, what happened?" Barnabas asked, puzzled.
"It was the family's convoluted curses," Josette said primly. "They have been tangling up this past week. Growing stronger, apparently centered around the ugly history of a cursed Collins."
"A cursed Collins?" Julia furrowed her brow.
"You mean, I'm not the only one?" Barnabas pressed, honestly stunned.
"Technically, we were all cursed," said Josette. "But there is a damned man in particular whose soul knows nothing but torment. He has brought his curse down upon our family. His ghost is held prisoner in the West Wing, but he intends to break free."
"Is his name Quentin Collins?" Barnabas pressed.
"Yes."
"Julia and I just saw him in the past," Barnabas relayed.
"He transformed into a monster," Julia added. "A werewolf, I believe. During my research into vampirism, I would occasionally find a few notes on lycanthropy as well. And I would say he certainly displays the most prominent symptoms."
"But you said this man is a ghost now?" Barnabas sought clarification.
"Yes, and he is giving us a great deal of trouble," Josette reiterated. "He wants to be the master of Collinwood, not that he has any love for his family. But we are working to keep him imprisoned."
"What?" Julia raised her brows.
"Perhaps I could offer some assistance," Barnabas volunteered.
"We must retrieve the warlock you summoned," Josette strongly insisted. "He seems to hold some sway over the shadows in this house."
"You mean Stiles?" Julia looked around the room.
"He was consumed by the shadows," Josette answered. "Or perhaps the darkness merely shelters him."
"He is in the shadows?" Barnabas noticed inky tendrils of darkness, unnaturally slithering across the ceiling and in the corners.
Eyeing this, Julia shared a stunned look with Barnabas.
Willie and Maggie were still journeying down the main floors' passages. Jason kept pace but hung back, letting his former partner in crime take the lead. Slithering shadows began sliding across the walls and ceilings, capturing his attention.
"Willie, the shadows," the con man called nervously.
"Are they tryin' to suck us into the past again?" Willie wondered aloud.
"I don't s'pose that golden trinket of yours is good for more than killin' dandies?"
Though he was scared, Willie kept it together.
"We hafta find Barnabas," was all he would say.
Warily, Beth watched as slithering shadows creeped along the walls and snaked through the ceilings in the forbidden corridor.
Even more distressing, Beth felt the looming presence of Count Petofi drawing closer.
A stretch of shadow menacingly crawled by Beth's skirt. "What is this?"
"More importantly," Quentin said behind the wall. "Petofi is heading this way."
"Yes, I know." Beth tried to keep herself stoic, but her voice couldn't help but waver.
"But you have Josette and generations of sheltered noblemen and spinsters to subdue him," Quentin said mockingly. "It's like sending an army of cherups to battle the devil."
"There's more than one evil presence in the house, Quentin," Beth said soberly. "Something is happening downstairs, and these strange shadows are creeping about. These shadows are not normal!"
What Quentin did next shocked Beth beyond measure. A pair of masculine hands snaked around her waist, pulling her back. She streamed through the wall, wrapped in Quentin's strong arms inside his cell.
"Well then, why don't you take tonight off." His voice was not only seductive, but comforting, soothing. "Don't you think it's past due?"
Elsewhere in the West Wing, Fenn-Gibbon drew closer to the forbidden corridor, with Chris Jennings by his side. The younger man looked around the passage, utterly perplexed.
"This is odd."
"What's odd?" pressed Fenn-Gibbon.
"No work has been done in this area of the West Wing," Chris observed.
"Yes, well, Quentin never cared for the plights of the common working man" Fenn-Gibbon remarked. "I doubt he'd tolerate their presence in his domain."
"His domain?" Chris frowned.
"We'd be under his nose by now," Fenn-Gibbon replied jovially.
Before Chris could respond, something ice cold and wholly invisible covered his mouth. He was pulled back with incredible force.
When Fenn-Gibbon rounded the next corner, he realized the young man was no longer with him. Hardly puzzled, let alone concerned, the old man let out a hearty chuckle. "Oh, you spirits are quite entertaining."
The portly warlock kept sniggering to himself. "Amusing, most amusing."
With wide stunned eyes, Beth faced Quentin. Not only that, but she was actually alone with him inside his cell. Through the long years she'd occasionally streamed through the neighboring walls in the forbidden corridor, to distance herself from Quentin when the loneliness threatened to take her. But she'd certainly never been inside his cell.
After all this time, Beth was taken by Quentin's handsome face. As she always had been.
She kept herself steady. "Quentin, do you understand the nature of these unnatural shadows? They've been abducting the living - the Collinses. The shadows have been taking them into the past. Our past."
"I don't know where those slithery little devils came from," said Quentin. "But for the past few years, I have been taming them, teaching them to do tricks. My wasted life dabbling with the occult has served me well in death. And with the aid of my new little friends, I can finally start putting this house to right.
"And whittle away at my French in-law's control."
"You were plotting this behind my very back." Beth looked at him sternly.
"But of course." Quentin flashed his wolfish smile. "I love the company, but I am not a voluntary prisoner."
Beth regarded him with an unflinching look. "I expect nothing less from you, Quentin. But you still surprise me."
Momentarily flattered by her words, the prisoner switched to another pressing matter.
"What are you and the rest of Josette's faction planning to do with Petofi?" Quentin demanded.
Beth finally faltered, stumbling over her words as she spoke. "You know a-about Petofi?"
Quentin flashed her a disappointed look. "I've known longer than any of you."
"He wants to entrap your soul," Beth confessed to him.
Quentin noted a hint of worry from her.
"Count Petofi," Quentin said venomously, but also a little wistfully. "After all these years, you're still empathetic to me."
"You must stay in here," Beth pressed. "We don't know what he would do with you if he should trap your soul."
"I prefer you much more as a jailer, anyway, Beth." Quentin smiled.
His face then quickly turned stone cold.
"But leave Petofi to me."
"Quentin, have you heard a single word I've said!" Beth argued.
"Yes, and I know Josette and her merry band are doing everything they can to stop him for their own ends," Quentin said harshly. "But given that this is Petofi, I am not particularly confident that they will succeed."
"Quentin -"
"And don't try to paint me as vulnerable," he cut her off. "There is a reason why my family hides behind you to keep me locked up in here. You know what I am capable of. Between this house, Jamison and my line. Believe me, Beth. I have much to fight for."
Chris was dragged all the way to the entrance door of the West Wing, (which slammed in his face) and where he literally bumped into Tom and Amy.
"Chris!" Amy cried happily. "Why did you walk here backwards?"
"It wasn't because I was trying, Amy," Chris said disgruntled. "Something moved me here."
"Something was holding us back," Tom informed. "We couldn't get into the West Wing."
"Yeah, it felt like ice cold hands," Amy described.
Chris still felt those invisible hands holding him back, warding him from going back into the West Wing.
"The ghosts haunting this big house don't want us to find Quentin," Amy piped up. "And I don't blame them, Quentin is scary."
"Why did you follow me up here anyway?" Chris looked down on her. "I told you to find Tom and stay with him."
"I overheard you talking to that strange man Mr. Fenn-Gibbon," said Amy. "He was going to take you to Quentin. So, I found Tom so we could stop you before you got hurt."
"Amy -"
"Did you talk to the creep on that broken phone?" Tom cut in, questioning his twin.
Chris nodded angrily.
"Then he's gotten to you." Tom was alarmed.
"Yes, and I want to meet him face to face." Chris darted his eyes toward Amy. "To ... explain to him why he should leave us alone."
"I think we should listen to the ghosts, Chris," Amy said warily. "We shouldn't be anywhere near Quentin. He's bad news."
"I have to find Quentin," Chris persisted. "He knows too much about us. I want to know how -" He stopped himself, then somewhat erratically started again. "He could be a deranged stalker. I want to know why he's interested in us."
"Quentin definitely has more loose screws than tight ones," Tom agreed. "He told me that Amy and David Collins are connected to him. Me too, apparently. So, yeah definitely a problem. He belongs in a sanitarium."
"What?" Chris felt even more unnerved. "What is he trying to pull?"
"That's exactly what we want to know," said an approaching voice.
The three siblings looked down the corridor, seeing Burke Devlin stride down with Vicki, David and Prof. Stokes. Instantly, Burke felt a pair of icy cold, invisible hands blocking him.
"Hey, hands off!" Burke bristled at the unexpected icy manhandling.
"It's the ghosts!" Amy spoke up. "They don't want us to see Quentin."
"They don't?" David looked to Amy.
"No, Quentin is that bad, David," Amy said seriously.
"Go, get outta here!" a thickly accented voice chilled the air, causing Vicki to protectively cling to David.
"Marvelous," Prof. Stoke gazed up at the air. "The ghosts are just as active up here as they are downstairs."
"Yes, they want us to keep away from Quentin," Amy repeated. She gazed back up at Chris. "But where is Mr. Fenn-Gibbon?"
"I don't know," Chris answered frustrated. "I was busy getting a pat-down from a corridor full of invisible ice people."
"We will deal with 'im," spoke the disembodied accented voice.
"Do you happen to be one of the specters haunting this grand estate?" Prof. Stokes asked formally.
"What buzinezz iz that of yourz?" demanded the rather husky voice.
"I would say that's a yes, professor," Vicki said steadily.
"I know it is presumptuous of me to inform you of the events taking place in your own home," Prof. Stokes said earnestly. "But I think we all know that this drama concerning Quentin Collins has gotten out of hand. Please allow us to enter the West Wing."
"I'm here to help, too." Another voice spoke down the corridor.
The group watched Joe approaching with a hardened look on his face. Carolyn was by his side.
"You?" Burke wrinkled his brow. "Do you know anything about Quentin Collins?"
"No, not really," Joe replied. "I'm trying to help an old friend."
"Really?" Vicki said delicately. "Who?"
"Sam Evans," Joe said soberly.
"You know about Fenn-Gibbon?" Burke pressed, a confused look on his face.
"Sort of." Joe shrugged.
"Mr. Haskell can provide assistance," Prof. Stokes said approvingly. "He is uniquely qualified."
"We have come as promised," a prim disembodied voice cut in. "Allow Joe to pass at once."
While much of the group humorously overreacted to the sudden voice, Carolyn just smirked at Joe. "I see that Millicent is just as much of a princess as I am."
"Yes, here we are. We should be scheduled for an appointment with Fenn-Gibbon or Petofi or whoever," another disembodied voice, this one unmistakably Sam Evans, vouched. "Let us through."
Burke jolted at the sound of his old friend's voice.
"Hey, Burke," Sam said casually. "I'm sorry we have to meet up like this, but your first priority is to protect Vicki and David. Leave ol' bushy puss to us."
"Sam?" Burke was absolutely shocked.
"Yez, your group may enter as we dizcuzz," the voice of the foreign ghost spoke. "But no one elze."
"Thank you," Sam replied.
"Will you allow me to accompany Mr. Haskell as well?" Prof. Stokes requested. "I do have knowledge of the arcane and I'm currently collaborating with Mr. Haskell on a similar project."
The corridor was quiet for a moment, then... "Very well. We will zee what you can do."
Prof. Stokes addressed Burke, Vicki, David and the Jennings. "You folks should move along. Your bravery is commendable, but I estimate this next bit will be quite dangerous."
Chris and Tom stared at the professor, not quite knowing what to make of him. But both bore the instinctive urge to get Amy out of Collinwood.
Joe tenderly touched Carolyn's shoulder. "You should get out of here, too. Your family's been through enough tonight."
"You've been through plenty, too, Joe," Carolyn said protectively.
Joe leaned forward and placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead.
"I will watch over him," Millicent's voice promised.
"And I will be around in case he needs real help," Nathan's sly voice added.
Burke and Vicki gaped up.
"Whose ghost is..."
Burke's almost question was left unanswered.
"We should really be on our way, Mr. Haskell," said Prof. Stokes.
The door opened on its own, allowing the two men to enter.
As she watched them go, disappearing into the darkness, Carolyn's only thought was, Joe, please come back.
Joe and Prof. Stokes creaked down the West Wing corridors side-by-side.
Feeling his posse of spirits, Joe asked the professor, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do about Fenn-Gibbon and Quentin Collins. I mean, I got a wand and I dabble with magic, but I don't know how to cast spells or curses. I'm sure they are out of my league."
"I am something of an authority on these matters," Prof. Stokes assured. "However, I would say you are better equipped to handle this situation than I am."
"I have an idea," Sam's voice chimed in.
"Quentin, that boy is not Jamison," Beth gently argued. "I know you want him to be. But he's not."
"In my heart he is my son," Quentin said resolutely. "No matter how many lifetimes pass, or what incarnation he is in."
"Quentin," Beth said in a gentle firmness. "Don't delude yourself."
"I wasn't only referring to the boy as family," Quentin rephrased.
"Yes, I know who the little girl is," said Beth. "And her older twin brothers."
"And the oldest brother inherited my curse," Quentin said pointedly. "While the rest of you wallow in sanctimony, my line languishes in obscurity. They work as servants in a house that should be theirs."
"Do you really care about them, Quentin?" Beth said icily. "Or do you only wish to control them?"
"I do not wish to see them at the mercy of Petofi," Quentin insisted. "Them or Jamison."
Beth shook her head in disbelief. "What can you possibly do to Petofi?"
A new voice cut through the air, a raspy drawl from outside of the cell. "Quentin, so good to hear your voice again. If only you would show yourself."
The voice belonged to Count Petofi.
Farewell Mitchell Ryan... you were the best Burke Devlin... Farewell Lara Parker... you definitely played a big part in making Dark Shadows special.
Conclusion in Final Chapter: Shadows of the Night