Angelique's Revenge Part 6
Date: 1/12/98
From: AngeliqueBouchard

Quentin sat in a darkened room in the west wing of Collinwood, the only light being a flashlight placed on top of a dusty bureau. There, Quentin sat pouring through the forgotten diaries and pictures of long dead Collins' ancestors. Many times before Quentin had explored here, but never with the determination and excitement which he felt tonight. Quentin shut another book, disappointed he had yet to find something to confirm or debunk the story Beth Chavez penned so long ago.

Quentin rose to stretch his long legs. He wanted to continue searching, but decided it would be best to come back in the morning when the sun would provide more light. He grabbed his flashlight and made his way through the decaying clutter towards the door. Suddenly, Quentin's light illuminated a large figure in his path. Quentin reeled backwards and tripped on a pile of books. On the floor Quentin looked up and realized he had been startled by his own reflection in a mirror.

"Get a hold of yourself man," Quentin said out loud. He pulled himself to his feet and went to retrieve his flashlight which had rolled a few feet away against some old paintings. Curiosity getting the better of him, Quentin began to sort through them. "These are from the 1700's," he said disappointedly. "Why can't I find anything from the 1800's?" As Quentin flipped to the last picture, he froze in disbelief. He slowly pulled it out from behind the other pictures and studied it closely. It was a portrait of a man and a golden haired woman in clothing suited to the late 1700's. On the bottom of the painting it read, "Jeremiah and Laura Collins, 1796."

"Impossible," Quentin said incredulously. "This is Roger's wife!"

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THE NEXT MORNING

Barnabas was abruptly awakened by the shrill voice of Mrs. Johnson as she pounded on the bedroom door. "What is it?" Barnabas answered in a groggy tone. The alarm in Mrs. Johnson's voice had failed to frighten Barnabas. Many a time Mrs. Johnson had been thrown into a state of anxiety over a matter which Barnabas found to be trivial.

"Mr. Barnabas, come quick! It's your wife!" Mrs. Johnson yelled through the door.

Barnabas turned toward the empty space usually occupied by Angelique. A rush of adrenaline shot through his body as he jumped out of bed. "What's wrong?" Barnabas shouted, nearly forgetting to cover himself with a robe before opening the door.

"She's down the basement." Mrs. Johnson said. "I don't know what's wrong with her."

Barnabas didn't wait for another word to be uttered. He rushed past Mrs. Johnson and raced through the halls. Down the steps he flew as his heart raced and his head filled with terrifying images. Had she fallen? Was she badly injured? He finally made it to the basement. Nothing Barnabas had imagined prepared him for the bizarre sight set before him. There on the floor knelt Angelique clawing at the stone floor. Her fingers bloodied from her efforts, a distraught look on her face. Barnabas called Angelique's name in disbelief.

She slowly raised her head and returned Barnabas' gaze. "Barnabas..." Angelique looked around herself in stunned silence. "Where are we?"

Barnabas crouched down to the floor in front of Angelique. "Down the basement. Do you know how you got here?"

"No," Angelique said, raising her hand to her face. She saw the blood and screamed. Barnabas helped Angelique to her feet as she sputtered, "How... how did this happen?"

"Don't worry Angelique, we'll get to the bottom of this. I'll call the Stokes today. I'm sure they can help us."

The ghost of Angelique Bouchard emerged from the floor, under which her dusty bones lay. She uttered a frightful laugh, unheard by human ears. "My dear Angelique, with each passing night you become more and more mine."

TO BE CONTINUED