Consequences of Falling ch. 33
From: Nicole
Date: Fri, 27 Jul 2001 21:35:58

Most people spend most time and energy in going around problems than in trying to solve them.
-Henry Ford

-or-

Marge, it takes two to lie.  One to lie and one to listen.
-Homer Simpson

Four days until the next full moon, Spring 1976

They crawled into their apartment around 2 AM although neigher Constance nor Quentin was particularly tired.  They talked whimsically about the events of the night as they undresed.  Constance had not wanted to go to the party but had felt compelled to attend.  In turn, she felt just as compelled to drag Quentin along with her.  For the last 18 months, she had been wary of going anywhere without him, cautiously eyeing him for any signs of change.

Constance hated this new awareness.  She hated fearing for Quentin, hated being afraid that someone would hurt him.  She wondered if Quentin noticed her anxiety, if he could sense it every time she reached for him out of fear.  Constance often wondered if he knew that danger was immanent.  He never showed any concern and that occasionally eased her.  Still, the prophecy had been cast almost 2 years ago and nothing had happened...at least not yet.

"Constance?"  She glanced in the direction of her name.  Quentin stood in the bathroom doorway, already stripped to his pants and staring at her oddly.  He looked a bit worried, possibly confused.  She realized that he had probably asked her a question and that she had ignored him.  Constance mumbled a vague apology and asked him to repeat the question.  "I only wanted to ask if you had finished."

"Have you finished your project?"  Quentin smiled sheepishly as he approached her, seemingly embarrassed by the situation.  "I realize that this is an odd time to ask, but I just remembered that you were trying to organize something big.  I've been so wrapped up in my own business that I've pushed you aside.  Can you forgive me?"

Constance had not felt neglected, but she had been so absorbed by her concerns to notice.  Still, an apology is an apology, especially when one manages to wrangle one from Quentin Collins without trying to do so.  "I'm not finished," she said, "and I forgive you.  Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, but thank you."  Quentin wrapped Constance in his arms and kissed her, starting very chastely but steadily increasing in intensity before he relunctantly pulled away.  "Thank you."

"No problem," purred Constance, wondering what he had done and if he could do it more often if it brought on this kind of reaction.  "It's the least I can do."

"I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"Your wish is my command."  The sheepishness left Quentin's smile, reverting back to the disarming smile that seemed to captivate all and focused it soley on Constance.  He pointed languidly towards the bathroom and said, "I'll just..."

"Fine go," said Constance, pushing him towards the door, "but do come back."

"Of course I'll come back.  I can barely let you out of my sight."  With that, Quentin kissed her full on the mouth and abruptly turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Constance slightly bemused and fully aroused.

Constance watched him as he walked away, almost shocked by his brazenness.  She knew that Quentin had a more than healthy sense of self-worth, much of which was not unfounded.  But he was just a mercurial as sound, easily fluctuating between playful giddiness to despondent gloom to raging anger to heartfelt sincerity in a moments notice.  In the last few years, his moodiness had stabilized somewhat and Constance was glad to witness the happier side of her lover emerge more often than his darker twin.  For all she cared, he could play with her libido as often as he wanted...just so long as he put out at the right moment.

Constance fought the urge to sneak into the bathroom to watch him shower, choosing to finish undressing and wait.  When he found her gray silk robe, she rediscovered her tattered pack of tarot cards.  Constance did not consider her precognition talent to be grand, although most humans seemed to think her gifted.  Against her better judgement, she picked up the weathered cards and took them to the bed, patiently shuffling them as she walked.  She had never favored doing elaborate layouts, prefering to merely ask questions and divine the truth for the card she pulled up first.  "Hmm...Will Quentin always love me?"  She laid down The Lovers.  Constance usually hated asking trite, silly questions, but on this night she wanted to waste time.  "What is coming for us in the next months?"  She laid down The Moon.  It seemed self explanatory.  Constance wanted clarification.  "What do you see for Quentin?"  She pulled up a reversed King of Swords, invoking an evil man or one with evil intent, the perversion of authority.  "What do you see for me?"  She layed down the Queen of Swords, invoking either betrayl from a close friend or sadness and separation.

Constance knew this could not be good.  While repressing her tears, Constance put the cards back into the deck and reshuffled.  She asked her questions and laid out the cards, finding the same cards she had found before.  Constance shuffled once again, but, this time, fanned the cards along the bed.  She closed her eyes and removed 4 cards.  She opened her eyes to see The Lovers, The Moon, The King of Swords, and The Queen of Swords.  She would have tried again had she not heard the water turn off.  Constance gathered the cards and put them in her nightstand.  She did not want Quentin to catch her and question her about what she was doing.  She would not be able to explain it to him; she could not explain it to herself.   She should not have looked to the cards for their future.  What right did she have to delve further?

Constance did not know if the cards were correct.  She did not want to think about it.  She knew that his time was running out and that the details mattered more now than ever.  Yet Constance could not face herself, let alone Quentin, if she knew more.  In an attempt to block it out, she slipped beneath the sheets, closing her eyes tightly to all she had seen although it was still pictured in the back of her mind.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.