Subj: Consequences of Falling Ch. 8
Date: 7/9/01 1:37:52 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole
June 28, 1972, Collinwood, 6:00 PM
Barnabas bypassed the Old House and went directly to Collinwood. He had been away in England for two months, abrupt business drawing him from home. The work only lasted a week so he brought Julia with him, hoping to make up for their lack of a honeymoon. They had married quickly after returning from the past, but their work had left little time for any celebration. Now the family seemed to be at peace. They were no longer needed to fix everyone's problems, giving them time to relax and enjoy one another. But he could not completely enjoy himself. He admired Julia, but he did not love her the way she wanted to be loved. He was still lamenting the loss of his other loves, the precious girls he had led to ruin. For them, he had nothing but love, sympathy, compassion. As hard as he tried, he found there was none left over in his heart for poor Julia.
He was pleased when they were given a reason to return to Collinsport. A patient had recently been shipped to Windcliffe, this one so tragic that they wanted Julia's expertise with him. Barnabas only knew that it was a disease that was both physically and psychologically degenerative. He honestly did not care. He was ready to return home, ready to face reality once more. Besides, he was curious as to how Quentin's little problem had been resolved. If they ended their relationship, Constance DuVane surely had to leave. After all, she was only working on her book and could do that anywhere. If they continued it, she might be living in Collinwood at this point. Barnabas hoped passionately for the former. Constance spooked Barnabas in a way he could not describe. He could not say that he did not like her; he could only admit that he did not trust her. Because of this, he wanted to know if she had become entrenched in his beloved family.
The moment he stepped into he foyer his question was answered. Constance DuVane stood at the foot of the stairwell, her eyes focused with intense anticipation at the door at the top. She jumped when he slammed the door, but she soon calmed, her mouth settling into a devious, knowing grin. "Welcome back, Mr. Collins," she purred. "I see that England agrees with you."
"I suppose it does. Thank you." Barnabas paced around Constance, eyeing the unnatural beauty for any changes. She had changed: she seemed happier although the oddly angelic glow had dissipated from her face. She was still beautiful, but it was a cooler, mature kind of beauty. Barnabas pushed these thoughts from his mind when he addressed her again, not wanting to sound too suspicious of someone with unknown powers. "I take it that you're waiting for Quentin?"
"Yes and no. Quentin went into town but he'll be back shortly. He told me to meet him here."
"So you still live in the cottage?"
"Oh yes," sang Constance. "Why would I leave?"
"I suppose you're right. Who else are you waiting for?"
Her smile seemed to dissolve as she leaning in, whispering, "I'm waiting for Mrs. Collins."
"Mrs. Collins."
"Yes, Roger's wife Cassandra returned about six weeks ago. You should hear her story. It's horrific! It's a wonder she make it out alive."
Barnabas barely heard anything after "Cassandra." It can't be! Angelique alive again? She died in my arms in 1841. It can't be Angelique. "Are you positive that she is Cassandra."
"Everyone who knew her recognized her as Cassandra Blair Collins." Constance's expression morphed into one of observational awe, looking him over like he was a store front mannequin. "Barnabas, you're turned green! Do you need to lie down? Do you need a drink? Do you need...?"
"He'll be all right, Constance. There's no need for you to worry about Barnabas."
Both Barnabas and Constance looked up to watch er descend the stairs. Except for the short black wig, the woman looked exactly like Angelique. She was Angelique. It could be no one else. "I didn't expect to see you Cassandra."
"Nor I you, Mr. Collins." Angelique turned to Constance and said, "You'll have to excuse Mr. Collins a moment. He and I will be talking in the drawing room."
"Of course," cooed Constance, the grin on slightly returning to her lips. "You have so much to talk about."
Angelique smiled and took Barnabas by the arm, gently leading him into the drawing room. She locked the doors after making sure they were completely alone. "So we meet again," she said slyly. "How quickly you've forgotten me?"
"How could I ever forget you?" demanded Barnabas. "After all we've been through, after all the torture we've inflicted upon each other, how could I forget you?"
"That's what I'm asking you!"
Barnabas groaned and took a seat. This was the last thing he needed in his life. "You're not supposed to be alive! How did you come back?"
"I can't believe you expected to remain dead, Barnabas," laughed Angelique. She paced around his seat, emitting a few well placed giggles when he looked at her. "I thought I was dead too. I remember coming to in a wonderfully decadent room with a familiar, beautiful face leaning over my bed. I asked him if I was dead. He laughed and said that he had found me, that he was afraid for me and took me in. He told me that my powers had never really left. I had believed that they had left, and my frustration hampered my ability, a sort of self-fulfilling prophesy. To make a long story short, I left him after a day's rest and have been traveling ever since."
"Why did you decide to return to Collinwood?" asked Barnabas.
"Why not? I wanted to know if you mourned me the way you did the others." She stood directly in front of him, the fire filling her beautiful blue eyes until they seemed to turn red. "In 1841, you said you loved me, that I was the one you loved all along. It seems that the moment you returned to 1971 you forgot all about me."
"That's a lie!" bellowed Barnabas. "What has happened in this time does not reflect my feelings for you."
"Don't feed me that line!" screamed Angelique. "How long did you pine for Josette? For Victoria Williams? For Roxanne Drew? And, oh, what you must think of Maggie Evan's marriage to Willie! You mourn them all much more than you did me."
"Why do you think any of that is a statement to how much I did or did not love you?"
Angelique grinned deviously, taking a seat in front of the fireplace, the fire kindling the moment she sat. "Maybe it doesn't. At least it seems that you've given up. I see that you've married Julia, who obviously loved you all those years, because you felt you had no one else."
"Why do you say such things?"
"Because I am speaking the truth. Tell me Barnabas, do you love her?"
"Of course," stuttered Barnabas, turning from her so not to meet her gaze.
Angelique's laughter soon filled the room. Barnabas was sure one could hear it throughout the house. She walked over to him, kneeling so that he lips grazed his earlobe. "Don't be shy," she purred. "You know you can tell me."
"Leave me be, Angelique!"
"You know I can never do that, Barnabas. So tell me, do you turn to her in the middle of the night? Do you take her like you did me, like you did the others? Do you scream her name during sex or do you recite the roll call you've acquired over the centuries?"
"I don't have to take this!" Barnabas stormed from the room to be met by the wide-eyed stares of Constance and Quentin. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," whispered Quentin.
"Are you all right?" asked Constance quietly.
"I will be once I get out of here." Barnabas raged toward the door but turned around the face them once more. Angelique stood beside Constance, her smile overtaking her face. Constance only glared angrily at Angelique, her eyes slit to pure black. She only turned away when Quentin pulled her into his side and kissed the top of her head, causing her to turn into him, burying her head into his arm. Barnabas wondered how much of the conversation they had heard. He wondered if they cared. "We have much more to talk about Cassandra."
"Of course we do," said Angelique. "I'll be waiting."
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