It was 1970. Almost thirty
years had passed since Diabolos last loosed his favorite on the
world. He was growing bored. There had crept in a certain fondness
for her wiles. He had watched her cunning grow sharp and deadly
over the centuries. He had seen her passion bloom to frenzied
heights undimmed by passing years. He had often wondered how that
vary passion and cunning would survive unsupported by her powers.
Given the choice, would she go back without them and be mortal?
Could she face aging and death? And where would that passion invest?
He called her up before him on a whim. Once again, he admired
her form. Such a lovely, deadly package it has all been, he thought.
And the heart and mind with it, such a jumble of desires. Angelique
approached him without fear. It had taken her centuries to realize
that Diabolos held a certain weakness in much the same way as
the mortal men she had swayed. His weakness was in his admiration....an
admiration that had grown to fondness. And fondness...was that
not so very far away from love?
He rose her up to Widow's Hill. Brushing aside the swirling mist
of fog, he let her see the graceful walls of Collinwood. Down
below, on the shaded path which ran to the Old House, a solitary
black-caped figure strolled slowly. His name slipped from her
lips with an aching familiarity. "Barnabas.."
Diabolos smiled inwardly. It was still there. All her passion.
He could free her this time. Let her finish out her interrupted
life-span. Let her free now after these centuries, and watch the
drama unfold. She would have perhaps fifty years or more, at least.
What would she do with that time? How would she seek the end of
her days? He was trading an infinity of her sure presence...trading
that for the pleasure of watching her. Memories are priceless,
the mortals say, he mused. And this trade of fifty years for my
favorite is well worth the infinity of having her, for I will
know at last how she would live...
Angelique turned her eyes up to Diabolos, searching for an answer.
"What is it now? Why do you show me him?"
"Angelique, your powers I have given you...what would you
trade those for? "
She looked out to the lone figure on the shaded path and replied
softly, "You know I would trade all for him."
"Ah, but that is too easy, my dear. You've never wanted to
be given him, really. You've tried to force it over the centuries
but that never brought you happiness. He only realized his love
for you when you were dead. Do you think he could love you alive?
Do you know my dear, I think there is another fate for you. Listen
to me now..."
She felt an aching, age-old weariness sweep over her. She was
tired of strife. She was tired of passion. Diabolos had called
for her and that meant another stay with mortals. What was it
this time?
He watched her reach inside of herself and draw strength. He smiled
in admiration. She is my finest piece of work..."Listen Angelique...You
have been my favorite. I want now to give you up freely, forever.
I will cast you back without powers. All that cunning and passion
will be your only means of survival. Can you do it, my love? Can
you live as a mortal woman? I will grant a wish for your acceptance.
Think carefully...."
She closed her eyes hard in a rush of feeling. Barnabas? Wish
for his love and take our lives together? Why had Diabolos warned
her of that? If not to wish for his love, then perhaps to wish
for something that could bring it forth ?
What then...Julia had cured him of his curse. She had seen that
by his walking in the day. What was it he himself most wished
for now? A pleading look came into her eyes.
"Would you let me go now? Would you give me some time there
before I ask my wish?"
Diabolos nodded his assent. "You will have one day, my dear.
You will go out now. By the next morning's dawn you will take
your reward. But if you leave now, this is irrevocable. You will
no longer have powers. I will not take you back. You will age
and die as a mortal woman. Be careful of your wish, it will be
your last."
Angelique turned a steady blue gaze out to the grounds of Collinwood.
She drew in her breath sharply. She watched the caped figure enter
the Old House. Without turning back, she answered Diabolos. "I
accept."
Angelique stood before the graceful aged lines of the Old House.
She reached for the door and paused. Destiny waits for no one,
she thought. The door opened and she was quickly inside.
She waited a moment. Soft voices came from another part of the
house. Her eyes cast about the room. There was Julia's ubiquitous
black bag on a table by the door. She walked to the fireplace.
On the mantle there was a letter. Her eyes curiously caught the
address. Dr. Julia Collins. She thought for a moment. An easy
mistake to make. Julia had stayed here so often, a sender might
confuse her with a family member.
The voices she heard grew louder as footsteps echoed in the hall.
He was there. Julia was with him. His hand.....the great black
ring which had shadowed every grasp was gone.... The elegant pale
fingers wore only a solemn band of gold. Julia's hand took his.
A smaller golden band shone brightly on her slender fingers.
Angelique fought back a choking sensation. She'd learned long
ago that a bright, hard smile could hide the deepest agonies.
Diabolos had upped the ante. Barnabas and Julia were wed. There
was no turning back. She was mortal and without powers. There
only remained a wish for her. A wish, which by the dawn, would
bring her a new life.
Within moments, they were alone. Julia needed no hints. Theirs
was a long and stormy knowledge of each other. Angelique and Barnabas
would have much to say. There was no need for her presence. Julia
lit a cigarette and stood outside in the garden. Tendrils of smoke
curled away, clouding her face even as her thoughts grew clouded.
What happens now? Now that he is cured...Now that he is mine?
Was our time together to be this brief?
Barnabas said nothing. Inside a torment stirred. He had watched
Angelique die and felt a long unrecognized emotion sweep over
him. He had loved her. He had dwelt with a centuries-old obsession
for Josette, only to lose it too late to realize what it had hid.
He had grieved for Angelique for many years. There was Julia now.
Julia of the shrewd mind and strength. Julia of the hidden heart
which grew fiercely each time he had tested it. Julia who had
devoted herself to his cure, and who was there when at long-last
he was mortal and knew fear. It was their time together, now.
Angelique's presence was like a long lost dream. Sweet in its
memory, but now out of time.
She cast her eyes down. There was nothing to say, really. His
brooding eyes told her all. Barnabas saw the letter on the mantle.
He gazed gently at Angelique. Whatever the reason for her presence,
this would wound her deeply.
Could she understand? Could she leave him in peace for the sake
of their love?
He was by her side. He gently took her hands and spoke haltingly.
"Angelique.....Julia is my wife now. I've been cured. We
want only to be in peace....Whatever it is that brought you here,
I will help you. I promise that. But please.... Let it end, my
love...Let it end between us."
She turned the force of her will into his sad, deep-set eyes.
"If you could wish, Barnabas? And if you could wish? What
would you wish for now?"
He spoke quietly, the words hammering into her skull. "I
wish to be with Julia, now. I wish for us to be left alone."
Every fiber inside of her screamed. She wanted to wound him. They
had been creatures of eternity, together. Time wasn't important
to them. These long years he had lived alone weren't made for
him to go his own way. It couldn't end this way! She turned away
in anger.
"Angelique!" He grabbed her arm and spun her back to
him. "You know it's best!"
Their eyes locked on each other's. Blue ice and dark brown fire.
Their hearing dimmed until it was many moments before either could
hear Julia's excited voice.
"Barnabas! It's Chris!...Quentin's here! Barnabas! Something
awful has happened!"
He turned away from Angelique, his body quaking. Quentin and Julia
were both there, holding a limp Chris between them. Quentin's
face was grief-stricken. His shirt was bloody. Barnabas ran to
Chris, helping Quentin support him. Julia grabbed her bag. Together,
they took him to the bedroom and laid him down.
Julia began stripping his shirt away. Quentin was silently weeping.
Barnabas put a hand on Quentin's shoulder. "What is it, Quentin?"
Quentin's eyes were anguished. "Amy told me he was depressed.
She said he had gone to the cemetery. I went to see him, Barnabas.
I went to tell him about me. I tried to tell him that I was here
to help. I wanted to give him hope, Barnabas. I wanted him to
stay strong." His shoulders heaved as a sob overtook him.
Barnabas asked gently, "What happened?"
"He pulled a gun, Barnabas. Loaded with a silver bullet.
He told me he wouldn't live with the curse anymore. I tried to
get it from him. We were struggling.....it went off."
Julia listened to Chris' chest. She probed the glistening wound
and determined its path. Rolling him over, she saw the exit wound.
A through and through shot. He had lost much blood. The bullet
had missed his lungs and heart. He would live if his body withstood
the shock and loss of blood. She bandaged him quickly.
Quentin sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Julia's sleeve.
"How bad is it?"
Julia felt sorry for Quentin. How much more guilt was one man
capable of bearing? She allowed her smile to be hopeful. "Quentin,
he's hurt bad but nothing vital is injured. He can survive this,
with luck."
"That's something always in short supply at Collinwood.",
Quentin replied bitterly.
"Shouldn't we take him to the hospital?" Barnabas inquired.
Julia shook her head. "There would be too many questions."
"But what about a blood transfusion?" She shook her
head impatiently. "No Barnabas...his blood isn't human anymore,
since the curse. His body would reject it."
Unnoticed by the others, Angelique slipped away. She felt curiously
detached. She sat in the gazebo as the long day slowly darkened.
Time stood still as if on edge for her. When the sun rose, she
would make her wish.
Quentin sat slouched on his bed, drink in hand. The portrait stared
back at him from across the room. The drape which had covered
it lay in a heap on the floor. A hideous grimace twisted the features
of the old man whose ghostly eyes stared weakly back at him. Deep
lines etched the ancient face. Brownish blotches and loose, sagging
skin distorted the once handsome features. The eyes....those were
what made the portrait so horrific, he thought. The pale, ghastly
windows which showed every selfish, arrogant action of his youth.
The same rheumy eyes which reflected great pools of aching sorrow
and remorse, earned by a century's worth of lessons.
He was happy enough to have the portrait back. With it, was the
key to end his immortality. But he couldn't end it until he was
free of the curse. And now? Chris was near death and he was powerless
to help. He took Chris' gun from his pocket. He wrapped it in
his handkerchief and sat it in his nightstand drawer. He thought
a moment, then rose. From back inside his closet he removed a
small box. He looked inside. Six silver bullets. Placed there
years ago when in 1897 he had first thought of taking his life.
He hadn't then, because he felt a duty to Jenny and Lenore. A
duty to spend his endless life searching for a cure. How much
more of a duty have I, he thought? If Chris dies......He closed
the box and replaced it. There was a certain cold comfort in knowing
they were there.
Barnabas sat with Julia in the Old House. He was saddened by her
latest news. Chris was not coming around the way she had hoped.
"I'm not sure why, Barnabas. The bullet struck no vital organs.
Perhaps its the shock and loss of blood. But I wonder too, if
his will to live is there."
Barnabas grieved for Chris. This was the last torment casting
a pall over Collinwood. Now, when his own life had completed a
cycle and mortality was his to spend with Julia, he was still
haunted by a Collins tragedy.
Toward evening, Angelique caught him walking alone. So like him,
she thought. All those years of nocturnal life and now when the
sun goes down, Barnabas still finds it necessary to wander the
grounds. She glided up to him so silently that he flinched in
her presence.
"Barnabas.....tell me what has happened to Chris."
He turned his great, dark eyes to hers. "He's dying, Angelique.
He tried to kill himself, and Quentin tried to stop him. The gun
went off anyway. Julia says the wound is not necessarily fatal,
but his will to live is gone. If he won't fight it, he will die."
Deep within herself she felt a stirring of pity for the young
man she knew so slightly. She thought for a moment. This sad,
young man was Quentin's great-grandson. And poor Quentin? What
would he be feeling tonight?
She took Barnabas' hand. As she squeezed it, she felt the cold
metal of his wedding ring. She closed her eyes and fought for
the right words. "Barnabas..." she began slowly. "Barnabas....what
would you give to save Chris and forever the end curse?"
He pulled away from her with an angry look. "This is no time
for games, Angelique!"
Her eyes glittered hard and a small, challenging smile crossed
her face. "This is no game, Barnabas. Diabolos sent me back
here to Collinwood. I am mortal now, Barnabas. I will age and
die as you will now. But there is a wish he owes me, and tomorrow
at dawn it is to be granted."
Barnabas stared wildly into her eyes. He looked to find any hint
of deceit. There was none. "You could do this? You could
save Chris and end the curse?"
Angelique slowly nodded. He stood before her with a piercing look.
He understood now. He thought for a moment of Julia. He pictured
Chris' limp form and Quentin's anguished eyes. His voice quavered
then grew determined. "I will give you my happiness, Angelique.
Take it and do what you will."
Quentin found her shortly before midnight. There was anger mixed
with sorrow in his eyes. He stood before her, as if daring her
to speak. "Quentin...." she began. He interrupted sharply.
"Barnabas told me everything, Angelique. Thanks, but no thanks!"
She laughed bitterly. "This wish isn't yours to turn down,
Quentin. I'm going to save Chris. End your curse! What more do
you want from me? I haven't grown as noble as you have, Quentin.
And at least I won't have the blood on my hands you've carried
for years."
Quentin slapped her hard. She slapped back in return, cutting
his lip with a long nail. He glared at her a moment, blood dripping
from his chin. He drew his arm across his mouth and stiffly stalked
away. He turned back once, with eyes blazing. "Leave him
alone, Angelique! Let someone here be happy!"
Pinkish edges of dawn began unraveling the star-strewn sky. Down
in the bay, small fishing boats began rowing out to the banks.
She had spent these last hours pacing the woods, alone. She turned
down the graveled pathway to the Old House. She entered to find
them all gathered together, exhaustion etched in the lines of
each worried face.
Barnabas sat in the old wing-backed chair. His weariness and stoic
features melted her heart. Quickly, before she could change her
mind, she knelt by his side and brought her lips to his ear. She
spoke the words as if for him:
"I wish for the curse to end."
With the familiar hard smile that always hid her pain, she rose
gracefully and walked out.
Quentin was once again in The Blue Whale. Outside, a neon light
proudly flashed the tavern's slogan, "Still the only place
in town." He smiled to himself. How very true it was. He
had celebrated his twenty-first birthday here, and tonight it
was another milestone birthday: 100 years. Earlier that evening
he had passed the old Greek diner on the waterfront. A sign with
a circle and pyramid was being erected. Outside, a friendly heavy-set
man smiled and handed him a flyer. Turning it over, he read about
the new Collinsport chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous. He smiled
again, thinking about it. Now that I'm mortal, perhaps it's time
I started thinking about my drinking habits....
Chris was sleeping now, at the Old House. His pale face had been
dreamy and confused. Quentin had held his hand and told him of
the curse's ending. It wasn't until the full moon shone down through
the bedroom window, that Chris lay down in a long, exhausted sleep.
Quentin had gone home to Collinwood. There in the room he had
used since his childhood, he had once again removed the drape
from his portrait. The curse was gone. He had only to give up
his immortality. He had taken the portrait to the woods. He stood
quietly a moment, then emptied a can of lighter fluid over his
horrific, painted visage.
At the first touch of the match, the painting flared brightly.
He dropped to his knees with an anguished groan. He kneeled there
long moments, waiting for aging and death. He moved only when
the flames died down. He could feel nothing. Then...with time...he
felt something. His fingers were burned. He brought his right
hand to his face. He stared at the blistered fingers in awe. He
had burned his fingers! He ran stumbling back to Collinwood. There
in his room, he stood before the mirror. He still looked twenty-seven.
There was a moon out. He was not a werewolf, and he had not aged
to a pile of ashes. His fingers were burned. He would live now,
and slowly age and die. He was free.
There was still an old, aching longing inside. And something new,
as well. Today was his birthday. He was alone. He would age and
die normally, and he was suddenly afraid. How do I do it, he thought?
I've never prepared for this.....I don't know how to live a normal
life...is it too late? An amusing thought struck him. He tilted
his head back and shot the whiskey straight down. I lived as a
werewolf...I was a soldier at the Somme in love with another man....hell,
I was the Immortal! And I find it hard to be normal?
After seeing to Chris, Barnabas walked out into the night again.
He had to go to Angelique. There was a bargain, and she had kept
her end. Now, in the shadows of the scuppernong, he stood in shock
as she told him quietly, "It's all over, Barnabas...We're
all free. Some of us from curses, and some of us from obsessions."
She leaned to kiss his cheek and with a smile that was no longer
so hard, she walked away from him a last time.
As always the trains were sparse through sleepy Collinsport. Checking
the schedule, Angelique saw nothing to New York City until 6:20am.
She wandered down to The Blue Whale on a whim. There in a darkened
corner, she saw him. He was sprawled in a booth, his long legs
out in the aisle, a drink in hand.
She took a brandy from the bartender and sat at the counter, watching
Quentin with a bemused air. It's always either a drink or a woman
in his hands when I find him, she thought, if not usually both.
Her musings were interrupted by the boozy breath and blocky shoulders
of a half-drunken dock worker. "Hey lil' honey......what's
up tonight?"
"Go away, you cretin!" she angrily replied. A slow dawning
that he had been insulted crossed his thick features. "Whad'ya
call me?" He grabbed her arm harshly, and stared stupidly
in her eyes. Her centuries old quick temper sparked into fury
as she threw her drink in his face. She looked up to find Quentin
there. His wide, boyish lips were pulled back in a slight grin.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"
The dock worker growled and grabbed Quentin's shirt. "Back
off, Bozo....I saw the girl first."
Quentin lurched back and swung at the man. He missed. A tattooed
forearm shot up and his face exploded in pain. He lay on the floor
a moment, looking up, then staggered back to his feet. The other
patrons had hustled the dockworker out the door. The bartender,
pointing toward his swelling eye, curtly offered him a wet rag.
Quentin sheepishly accepted, looking around for Angelique. She
came up to him, laughing despite herself. "Quentin, my dear...you're
certainly out of practice at defending a lady's dignity!"
He hung his head a little with a deft, slight smile. "Angelique,
be nice. It's my 100th birthday, today. It wasn't bad for an old
guy who's out of shape."
She laughed again. This was what she needed. Something, and well,
perhaps someone, to take her mind off the waiting. After New York
she had no idea of what to do. Only that she wanted to leave Collinwood,
and everything it meant to her, forever.
"Well my gallant Quentin, since it's your birthday, let me
drink with you until my train leaves. It's the least I can do
considering our last, rather unfriendly encounter."
Quentin bowed with as much gallantry his wobbly legs and blackened
eye could give. "I'd be delighted."
They sat near the corner of the bar, drinking silently in the
other's company. Quentin rose to the piano, softly fingering the
keys and picking out an old melody. Angelique smiled at the tune.
It had been popular in 1897. "Shadows of the Night"
it was called. She sat down beside him. She found herself speaking
the lyrics aloud....
In this world that we know now
Life is here, then gone.
But somewhere in the afterglow,
Love lives on and on.
Shadows of the night,
Falling silently
Echoes of the past,
Calling you to me.
The melody stopped. She turned to him. "Quentin.....what
will you do?"
He looked at her, smiling at first, then sighing softly. "I'm
not really sure. It's so funny, Angelique. I've wished so long
for this. All these years, and I'm terribly unprepared for it....What
will you do?"
"I suppose I'm like you, Quentin...I haven't prepared for
it. I really don't know. In the morning, New York City. After
that?" She shrugged.
He sat still a moment, then looked cautiously at her. "I
have thought of something, Angelique...Liz...she made me an offer."
She looked at him quizzically. "A job, Quentin? This is a
first for you! What will you do?"
He frowned a moment and replied, "Will you promise not to
laugh?"
She shook her head, smiling. "No promises."
He groaned and sat his chin on his hands. "OK...I'll tell
you anyway. Please don't laugh, though...Angelique...Liz is turning
the East wing into a school for disadvantaged kids. The family
will remain in the West wing. She's offered me the cottage and
a position as a teacher."
Angelique threw her head back with a delighted laugh. "Quentin
Collins! The ne'er-do-well back at his old haunts as a teacher!
What would your grandmother say!"
He frowned at her. "You don't have to laugh so hard. Stranger
things have happened!" In a more serious voice, he added
slowly, "Angelique....did Collinwood ever pull at you? I've
always come home. No matter how many years have passed. Now I
want to stay here. I love children...always have. I suddenly can't
think of anything better than staying and working with Liz and
the family. Who knows what we might create?"
She smiled at him. His sincerity touched her. His blue eyes tonight
were less anguished than she remembered. There was no self-absorption.
No guilt. What she saw was hope. She was envious of his new-found
sense of self. He seemed terribly strong to her, just now. She
leaned forward a little, taking sudden pleasure in his nearness.
He looked at her wordlessly, then lightly placed an arm about
her shoulders and drew her closer.
"What is it, Angelique?" he softly questioned
"I'm scared......I'm really scared, Quentin. I don't know
how to live this way." She drew back away from him, suddenly
troubled by his presence. A deep ache was beginning to form inside
of her. She glanced back at the clock above the bar. It was time
to go. She rose and flashed a brief smile. "I've got to go,
Quentin. It's time."
He stood up, his mind suddenly confused by conflicting emotions.
He didn't want her to leave. It didn't seem right. He wanted her
to stay, but he couldn't find the words to tell her. He couldn't
name the feeling inside of himself that made him wish this. He
only knew he needed to go with her until he could sort out his
words and feelings. He reached out to her and took her hand. "I'll
walk with you, Angelique."
They waited at the half-empty platform. Disinterested commuters
sat patiently perusing the New York Times. Quentin and Angelique
stood back against the brick facings, each lost in thought. A
sharp whistle announced the 6:20's eminent arrival. He turned
and gripped her shoulders. Her lips met his. Her kiss was different
from others in the past. No taunting. No hardness. It was hauntingly
sweet, and it brought tears to his eyes. Taking courage from the
kiss he whispered hoarsely, "Could you stay here with me?
Could you love me?"
She looked at him with a troubled, fearful expression. "How,
Quentin? Tell me how...I'm afraid."
He pulled her tightly to him and kissed her harder. Over and over
again his mouth met hers until at last an answer came to her:
This is how. This is how we will live and end our days. She threw
her arms about his neck, looking past him to the waiting train.
"I love you, Quentin Collins.....we'll stay here and we won't
ever part!"
Finis