Subj: Dark Shadows: Mirror, Mirror Chapter 8
Date: 3/11/99 6:27:12 PM Central Standard Time
From: erulon

Whoever said that confession was good for the soul obviously had nothing interesting to talk about, Elizabeth reflected, waiting for Father Francis Trask to speak. Finally, he said, “Isn’t it about time you stopped blaming yourself for everything that’s happened?”

“That’s not the response I expected,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Go to a different church then,” Trask responded, refusing to become angry. He took Elizabeth’s hand in his. He was still a handsome man in spite of his careworn features. “I think time has gone by. Won’t you let me see you publicly?”

Elizabeth looked away. “I can’t—not now.”

“I still have feelings for you.”

“Please, Frank! I didn’t come here to talk about that!”

“No, you came to talk about the guilt you feel for the neglect of your daughter and the death of your son—some sort of punishment bestowed only on you.” Trask sighed heavily and with compassion. “You know that I know what it is to lose a child.”

“What we did was wrong,” Elizabeth said. “And that’s why we’ve suffered.”

“My dear, the Lord doesn’t keep a checklist of who has been good or bad. These things certainly don’t happen because two people love each other. Remember that we didn’t know that Tom was still alive. Had we all the facts, we never would have given in to our feelings…”

“But we did. And now we’re paying. Tom’s divorced me. My son is dead—your daughter is dead. My baby is in a mental institution. And Quentin…” Elizabeth abruptly stopped herself.

“Yes? Quentin? What is it?” Trask pressed.

“I’m worried about him. He’s been away too long. I suspect something is wrong—I can’t believe he’s left Marissa, but he’s missed holidays and birthdays now over these last four and a half months!”

Trask’s brows rushed together. “I hadn’t realized he’d been gone that long.”

“He’s called, but…I just don’t understand what is keeping him away. I have a bad feeling about this!”

“I wish you would give in and allow me into his life—let him know that he has a brother, another sister…” Trask’s voice trailed off heavily, thinking that Quentin had another sister, yes, but he would never know her. He’d never had the opportunity to bring all of his children together and that grieved him sorely.

“No, Frank!” Elizabeth exclaimed, standing. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Perhaps you’re right—perhaps I should find another church.”

He looked up at her sadly. “I hope you’re not serious about that. I am hoping to convince you to allow me to come into your life now—bring our families together at last. Will you consider it?”

“Goodbye!” Elizabeth exclaimed abruptly, ignoring the question. She turned and left. Frank Trask watched her go, knowing that it was her guilt and shame that made her appear cold and distant. He still had hope that he would be able to reach her.

Cyrus Longworth parked his car at the gate to Collinwood. He was supposed to go to the Old House, but he had a sudden vision of a lovely face in his memory: the elusive Clarice Malone. He thought of her thick, lustrous dark hair and her luminous, large eyes and sighed. She’d rebuffed him once before — should he try again? Well, he shrugged, nothing ventured, and nothing gained. He decided to visit Collinwood first, and then go to the Old House to ask Barnabas to come and see Julia later. She had an idea that hypnotism would help her remember what was in that note—and help her remember something else, too. He wasn’t sure what it was, and she wasn’t forthcoming. He knocked at the door and was admitted by Mrs. Johnson, the dour-faced housekeeper. “No one is sick,” Mrs. Johnson informed him. “That’s not what brings me. I thought I would stop and see how Mrs. Beacham is doing.”

“Well, that’s odd—you’re not her physician,” Mrs. Johnson remarked with asperity.

Mind your own business! Cyrus thought irritably. “I am coming in her place.”

“Well, come along then. She’s in her room with Miss Malone and Amy.” Mrs. Johnson led Cyrus up the stairs. He hoped she wasn’t going to hang around and find out that seeing Nora Beacham was just a ruse to visit Clarice. Mrs. Johnson knocked at the door. When she heard Mrs. Beacham’s tremulous voice call out an invitation to come in, she opened the door to admit Cyrus. Mrs. Beacham was seated upright (for a change, Cyrus noted—lately she always seemed to be sleeping). She was engaged in a game of Chinese checkers with little Amy. Clarice was seated in a soft chair near the window, cross-stitching.
She looked up and smiled a friendly but bland smile. “Why, hello, Dr. Longworth. How nice to see you.”

Cyrus just about shut the door in Mrs. Johnson’s face. “Miss Malone, good to see you again. I just came to check on Mrs. Beacham.”

“What for?” the old lady asked peevishly. “I feel fine!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, rest assured,” Cyrus said hastily.

“Clarice, I wonder if I might have a moment to speak with you, privately?” Clarice knew what he wanted and cast her mind about for a way to get out of it. She was expecting Claudius Trask to arrive momentarily; she wanted to be right here by the window so that she could watch the spell she’d cast begin to work. Cyrus was a nuisance and a bother. An idea came to her suddenly, and her smile became almost radiant. “Why certainly. Let’s go out into the hall.” She got up with her cross stichery and led Cyrus into the hall outside. As soon as they were gone, Nora Beacham leaned over and whispered to Amy, “I don’t like her.”

Amy was surprised. Her eyes grew big. “Why not? She seems nice, Aunt Nora.”

“She is not nice to me. She calls me an ‘old bat’,” Aunt Nora complained petulantly. “I want you to tell your mother.”

Amy frowned, confused. Tell her mother—she must not remember about her mother. Aunt Nora did become confused often. “I’ll tell father,” she offered.

“Yes, please do, Elizabeth. Tell your father. My brother will take care of her!” Aunt Nora sniffed. She looked at the game board and moved her marble forward. Amy almost immediately dismissed the information from her mind. Aunt Nora thought she was Aunt Elizabeth—she must really be confused. She must be confused about Miss Malone, too. She was a very nice lady, that Miss Malone!

In the hallway, Clarice looked at Cyrus with nothing but friendliness in her large brown eyes. “Yes, Dr. Longworth?”

“Please—Cyrus. Please call me Cyrus,” the shy doctor stuttered. “I would like to know if you would come out with me to a movie, perhaps, or…” He broke off when Clarice’s sewing fell to the floor. “Let me get that!” he exclaimed, bending down to retrieve it for her. A sharp needle pricked his finger, as Clarice had known it would. “Ouch!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, dear!” Clarice seemed distressed as she knelt beside him. “You’ve hurt yourself—I’m so sorry! Let me see, Cyrus!” She took his finger in her hands, gently squeezing until a large droplet of blood appeared. She brought his finger to her mouth and he watched in open-mouthed wonder as she gently sucked the drop of blood away and kissed his finger. She thought: A drop of blood, a simple kiss, I cast this spell to feed your bliss. May the fire in your heart, tear you apart until you find your true heart's desire....which will never be.” She giggled softly. Gently she drew Cyrus back to his feet. “You were saying?” “I was saying…I want…I need…” Cyrus broke off, staring at her wildly. This isn’t my true love, he thought. This is someone I wanted to ask out on a date—but how can I do that? How can I find my true love’s desire until I find her? “I—I…”

“You need to go to the Old House,” the witch calling herself Clarice gently reminded him.

“Yes, yes, that’s right—thank you, Clarice.”

“You’re welcome, Cyrus.” As he turned to go, Vicki continued to smile—it was a cold, malicious smile now. She went back into the room. She still had time to get back to her chair and watch out the window. It briefly crossed her mind that she would be watching for Claudius and Marissa like some sort of predator—a large cat, yes, she imagined. A sleek, beautiful yet ruthless hunter--and Claudius and Marissa were her prey. Trapping them and manipulating them like a cat would, yes, that was key to beginning her way back to Quentin’s arms again.

Marissa and David worked in companionable silence. Now that her brother Tony had filed the patent papers on her yellow African violet, Marissa was ready to try crossbreeding to affect changes in colors. Her hands were covered in soil. “Marissa?” David asked. “Do you mind if I take a cutting from the shamrock plant?”

“No, not at all, David,” Marissa answered, concentrating on what she was doing. She was glad that the boy shared her interest. She would be unbearably lonely otherwise; Quentin’s nightly calls were no longer enough for her. She was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something else keeping him away on this extended business trip. She knew enough about how corporations operated to know that everyone got some time off. She couldn’t believe that there was anything so dire that Quentin couldn’t get away for even a weekend. No, there had to be something else going on…

“I’m going to take this cutting to my room,” David was saying. “I’ll be back.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Marissa replied in a distracted manner.

At that moment, Vicki was scooting Amy out the door. It was time for Aunt Nora’s nap. “David is bringing a nice new plant in to his room—why don’t you go and look?” There! That would keep the boy preoccupied. “I’m not tired,” Nora protested when Vicki came back into the room.

“Why that’s all right then, why don’t you just lie there quietly anyway?” Vicki smiled nastily, lifting her charge up easily and depositing her gently on the bed. Mustn’t have the old crow complaining about being treated roughly. “You just rest, you know it does you good!” Vicki went back to the window and looked out over the lawn toward the greenhouse. Claudius had already parked his car and was walking toward his destiny—his long lost love, Vicki thought, and even those dripped heavily with sarcasm.

Vicki could see into the hothouse. Claudius spoke Marissa’s name softly. Looking up, Marissa saw the ardent longing in Claudius’ eyes. She remembered how she’d once loved him. “Claudius…” she whispered.

They moved toward each other. Perfect, Vicki thought, and now for the next step. Quentin…she called out in her mind. She imagined herself searching for him, seeking him—she had something to show him about his beloved Marissa.

“Quentin! Quentin!” He’d been napping out of boredom. Vicki’s voice brought him to an alert state of angry wakefulness. He got up and walked around his room—his prison. His sketchpad was on the desk by the window; he was currently doing a portrait of David. He’d work on Toby and Kate next—if he had to be here that long. There was no one with him.

“Where are you, you bitch?” he snapped. “Show yourself, Vicki! I’d like to touch you—give you a friendly little kiss!”

“Oh, I’m sure you would, my darling,” he heard her voice and realized now that it was in his mind. That either meant that she was casting another spell on him or he was losing his mind. “No, you’re not going
crazy, my darling,” she assured him.

“I’m not your darling! Especially not after what you’ve done to me, you…”

“Don’t say it, Quentin! Don’t! You’ll see that I only meant to protect you.”

“Protect me! You are perverse, you miserable…”

“Darling, come to the mirror. Look in the mirror!”

“What for?”

“I want to show you what I am protecting you from. Come to the mirror!” Reluctantly yet drawn by curiosity, Quentin went to the mirror above his dresser. He winced at his own reflection. A handsome young man whose features were twisted with bitterness and rage. The image shimmered and went away. He realized he was looking into the greenhouse. There were two people there, embracing, a man and a woman. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the woman was—Marissa! His mouth fell open with shock and dismay… Vicki grinned, feeling Quentin’s distress. She began to bring a memory to mind—a memory of she and Quentin, locked in passionate embrace. He’d wanted her so badly, he’d taken her right on a desk top in the chemistry lab at school. No one had been about…it had been wild, wonderful, passionate…she could feel herself becoming aroused as she remembered it. She would make Quentin remember it, too, only he would see it as if it was happening to someone else. That thought nearly brought her to the peak of her desire and she fought to control herself. She had to concentrate!

“Barnabas?”

He turned, guiltily, putting the picture behind his back. “Sabrina—I didn’t hear you come in!” He exclaimed, flushing.

“I needed to lie down for a while. My ankles are as big as an elephant’s.” Sabrina laughed in a self-deprecating way. “What have you got there?”

“Oh—it’s nothing. It’s just a picture of—of a, ah, a uh, friend,” he stuttered miserably. In spite of Julia’s advice, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Sabrina about Lorraine. What would she think?

Sabrina, though, was not a fool. “May I see?” she asked. She walked slowly to her husband, one hand on her protruding belly. She held her hand out and Barnabas gave her the picture, looking away guiltily. “She’s beautiful, Barnabas. Who is this? Where does she live?”

“Her name is—was Lorraine. She died, Sabrina.”

Sabrina’s eyes widened with shock. “Oh! She’s so young! What happened to her?”

Barnabas’ eyes filled with grief. “It was so many years ago—it pains me to speak of it, my dear. It was a dreadful accident—and it was all my fault.”

“Oh!” Sabrina gasped. She realized that there was much about this gentle man who’d married her that she didn’t know—and now she realized something else. “You loved her, Barnabas!”

“Very much.” Barnabas turned away.

“I’m so sorry.” Sabrina felt helpless. She didn’t know what comfort she could offer—except for the fact that she understood some of what he was feeling. She wondered if it would help him to talk about it—should she ask him how it happened? Suddenly, she felt her child give a strong kick and she gasped.

“What is it?” Barnabas asked, immediately concerned. He turned toward her.

Automatically, she reached out and grabbed his hand, guiding it to her abdomen. It was, she realized, absolutely the right thing to do. “Wait,” she whispered.

It came again. The baby kicked so hard that Barnabas’ hand visibly moved. He could almost see the little foot that kicked out. His eyes widened and filled with delighted wonder. He looked at Sabrina and a slow smile of genuine pleasure spread across his face.

The man’s hands were around her, moving slowly across her body as he kissed her. He pressed her back against the table she was working on. Her hands were around his neck, into his hair. They were covered with soil, but neither person seemed to care. The man was pulling her blouse off, caressing and kissing her breasts almost frantically. They seemed to need and want each other very much, for her own hands had begun to unbutton his shirt. He lifted her up and set her on the table, moving between her legs. Her hands went to his belt even as he pushed her skirt up, moving her garments out of the way.

“NO!” Quentin roared in anger and pain. He punched the mirror with his fist and shattered it.

Barnabas pulled away from Sabrina abruptly. “Good heavens!” He exclaimed. He ran from the bedroom and down the hallway to the stairway that would take him up one flight to Quentin’s locked room. Sabrina couldn’t run, but she managed to follow along as quickly as she could. Already she could hear the two cousins shouting at each other. She stopped in the doorway to Quentin’s room, stunned. Barnabas and Quentin faced each other. Quentin’s face was twisted with fury and blood dripped from his hand. The mirror on his dresser had been shattered. “I’m warning you to get out of my way NOW Barnabas,” Quentin was yelling.

“And I’m telling you I cannot allow you to leave!” Barnabas yelled back.

“Look at yourself! You’re hurt! What is the matter with you?”

“I saw some man with Marissa! Don’t you understand? I have to stop them!”

“Quentin, you couldn’t have seen Marissa. She’s nowhere near here!” Barnabas argued, trying to reason with the younger man.

“No! You don’t understand! I told you I’d seen Vicki! She came back again today—she showed me in the mirror!” Quentin began to move forward again. “Some strange man is about to have sex with my wife, Barnabas! Get out of my way!”

At that inopportune moment, someone began knocking at the door. “Sabrina, would you get that, please?” Barnabas asked calmly, fervently hoping that it was Julia or Cyrus. He stepped in front of Quentin, blocking him again as Sabrina reluctantly turned to go and answer the door.

“Damn you, Barnabas!” Quentin shouted. “Get out of the way!”

“Or what? What will you do? Shove me out of the way?” Barnabas demanded. “Go on, then—because that is the only way you’ll get past me!” He said a silent prayer that Quentin was the decent young man he believed him to be and waited.

Quentin took a step forward and then stopped, tears of frustration beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I can’t kill you,” he whispered. He turned away and pounded the top of his dresser with his fists. “Damn, damn, damn!” Droplets of blood went flying, spattering the shattered mirror, the wall, and the dresser.

“Quentin, listen to me!” Barnabas exclaimed sharply now. “Stop that! If you saw a vision in the mirror sent to you by Vicki, how can you be so sure that it was real? Do you trust your wife so little? Think! Think!” He was relieved when Quentin stopped pounding the top of the dresser.

“Barnabas, I can’t stand it!” Quentin’s voice came in harsh, tearing gasps. “I can feel her pulling away from me a little further every night that I call!”

Sabrina and Cyrus appeared in the doorway. “Quentin, for God’s sake!” Cyrus exclaimed.

“Cyrus!” Barnabas exclaimed. “He’s hurt himself.”

“I see that,” Cyrus muttered. He was already pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “Quentin, sit down. Let me see your hand.”

“Fuck that!” Quentin exclaimed, furious again. “What about a cure? Haven’t you and Julia gotten anywhere at all? How long is this going to take?”

“Take it easy!” Cyrus soothed him. “Sit down, please—let me look at your hand. I came over today to tell you something about a cure.”

Mollified, Quentin sat on the edge of his bed and allowed Cyrus to look at his injured hand. “I need to impose on you for some warm water and disinfectant,” Cyrus said over his shoulder to Sabrina. To his friend, he said: “I’m going to have to put some stitches in, Quentin. You’ve really damaged this hand.”

“I don’t care!” Quentin declared petulantly. He added: “What about this cure?”

“Well, I was going to tell Barnabas…uh…ah, I was, uh,” Cyrus began and then realized he couldn’t remember what he was to tell Barnabas. He almost panicked and then realized he had to keep his friend calm. He looked at Quentin and continued softly, “Let me tell you after I take care of your hand, all right? Let me concentrate on fixing your hand so that you’ll be able to use it again.” With that warning said, he decided he would give Quentin a shot of painkiller sufficient to knock a horse out for the night. After that, hopefully he’d remember what it was Julia wanted Barnabas to know.

As Vicki smiled in satisfied contentment, sure that her plans to get Quentin back were successfully underway, Marissa was pulling herself free from Claudius’ embrace. The moment he’d stepped through the door, she’d felt suddenly hot and dizzy. He’d said her name and then had crossed to her, taking her into his arms. “Marissa, I’ve missed you—all these years, it’s always been you that I loved.” Then he had kissed her.

She could feel herself burning with desire for him. She wanted to let him go further but she managed to gain enough of her will together to bring Quentin’s face into her mind. She’d managed to pull back. “Claudius, no,” she protested.

“Darling, we should’ve married—don’t you realize that? I understand only too well what a mistake it was to go away and leave you. We should’ve married first!”

“Please—don’t say that, Claudius. We can’t change things. I’m married to Quentin—I love him, with all my heart.”

“You can’t look me in the eye and say you don’t want me,” he challenged her. “Marissa, Quentin’s left you. You’re just denying it in your head, but you know it’s true. He hasn’t been back to see you at all,
has he? Not once? You lie there in your lonely bed, night after night—and for all you know, Quentin is…”

“No!” Marissa cried out.

“Then look at me and tell me you don’t love me. Tell me and I’ll go away!” He challenged her again. She was afraid to look at him; he could sense it. He put his fingers under her chin and gently turned her face toward him. Their eyes met. He moved to kiss her again. She didn’t try to stop him this time.