Subj: Consequences of Falling ch. 37
Date: 7/30/01 7:21:30 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole

Seven days before the next full moon, Spring 1976

Constance wanted to know when the plane would take off. She could not believe how ready she was to leave her home. It felt strange because she loved the city, devouring the culture and the anonymity as only she could. But she did not trust it now, at least not after Quentin's episode. Constance felt that whatever was after him had found him in the city. It was taunting him, attempting to make a fool of him in front of everyone. Constance had watched as Corrin had been abused. She would not sit back and let the same thing happen to Quentin.

Constance had survived losing Corrin but it hadn't been pleasant. This had been the time she stopped sleeping. She had also gone on a particularly brutal killing spree, doing her best to destroy as many people as possible so that she could avenge Corrin. During the 18th century Constance eased up, pleased to have the Enlightenment casting doubt on the superstitions that had ruined her life with Corrin. Constance moved with ease in society but formed few lasting bonds. Falling for Quentin had been a pleasant surprise. She had loved Corrin the duration of the 20 year union, but she had shared more with Quentin during the last 4 years. She could not say the she loved Quentin more than Corrin. For the most part, her relationship with Corrin had been beautiful. He relationship with Quentin was no less beautiful but different and exquisitely strange. The only true variation in the relationships was the toll of lycanthropy, although she knew that the parallels were more numerous than she wanted to admit.

She was not willing to let the parallels increase. Constance knew various pseudo-cures she was not willing to turn to yet. She knew that the portrait continued to work. She had checked on it, half relieved/half horrified to find it as hideous as ever. "God Connie! Why are you looking at that thing?" he had asked her.

"Curiosity," murmured Constance, hoping to sound indifferent. "Do you ever visit your better half?"

"Not hardly. I only look at that atrocity when I have to."

Constance could see through the facade. She knew that Quentin checked the portrait with regularity. She had watched once as he witnessed the hideous man change into the frail gray wolf that was incapable of scaring, let alone hurting, anyone. She knew that it disturbed him to see the dark side of his heart illustrated for him to see. But he did not have to like it. The portrait was a necessary evil. Yet his increased skittishness worried her. There was one easy way to find out what he felt but she could not broach the subject with him.

As frightened as Constance was of talking about the prophecy with Quentin, she had no problem attempting to get him out of town. She waited until he was near sleep, hoping the disorientation would lead him to agree with anything she said, to broach the subject. "Wouldn't it be nice to get away from all of this?" she asked slyly.

"And what do you propose we do?" asked Quentin, turning lazily on his side to face her.

"Well, there are tons of places to go." Constance hoisted herself onto her elbows, hoping the shadows would shade her eyes from him, hoping he wouldn't see through her. "Spain is wonderful, especially since no one living remembers me. Italy is beautiful, especially Venice in spring. We could trek through Asia. But more than this, I think we should--and I know how you'll take this--go back to the island."

"You love that place, don't you?" murmured Quentin as he sleepily eased himself next to her elbow. "But it does sound brilliant."

"Of course it does! How could you have a problem with lots of sun, sand, and privacy? And we were married there. Isn't that good enough reason to return?"

"Yes...but what if we run into the justice who performed the ceremony?"

"True," whispered Constance, attempting to repress the giggles rising in her throat as best she could. "He was a bit much."

"A bit much! He stared at your breasts for most of the ceremony. I don't see how you could take it!"

"You sure didn't. 'If you don't stop gawking at her, I'm going to knock your lights out!' I could barely keep from laughing. I thought he'd have a stroke."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to stop apologizing for that."

"Why?" asked Constance. "He stopped looking at me and he didn't press charges. I don't see the problem. You were being protective. I, for one, don't hold it against you."

Quentin looked up at her oddly, silently questioning her response. He soon looked down, nuzzling again into her arm. "And you want to return?"

"I want to return with you." Constance turned onto her side and began to run her hands through his hair, twisting the longest strands into languid curls. She could tell that he wanted to go. She could see it in the way he smiled. He was only holding out to get a rise out of her. "But I could always leave without you if you REALLY didn't want to go. I'd be lonely...for awhile."

"Now, I think you should reconsider. I didn't say I didn't want to go with you," murmured Quentin.

"Of course not! Why would you want to be alone in a large apartment while I lay on the beach being fanned by pretty naked island boys? On second thought...you have things to do. I'll leave you to do those things while I suffer with the boys."

"Truce, truce okay. I'll go."

Constance was excited to have him on board. The only problem she had was arranging her trip, which took a solid week of registering, canceling, and favor-calling before Constance was pleased. They world arrive on the island a week before the next full moon. She hoped the change in environment would buy Quentin some time, giving her time to work out an adequate plan. Hopefully, the trip would disorient any force that was against him. More than anything, Constance wanted Quentin to herself, social and familiar obligations be damned.

The day the were set to leave, Constance's worries began to reappear. She began to doubt her logic, thinking that changing locale would not help anyone. She began to believe that she could do nothing for him, and that he would face a fate similar to Corrin's. Quentin noticed her anxiety and questioned her on it, forcing Constance to lie about pre-trip jitters. "You worry too much," he said sympathetically. "You need to relax and you'll see that everything will be all right."

Constance decided to follow his advice. She began to believe that Quentin was right. Constance recognized that she had the propensity to blow situations out of proportion. As dangerous as the prophecy was, the time lapse ld her to believe that things would be fine. She saw the incident on the full moon as being a slight relapse. She thought it could have been brought about by some illness. It did not have to be his curse.

As they boarded the plane, the anxiety once again struck constance. It came on strong, battering her from all sides. She had never felt anything as overpoweringly evil in her life. It was like nothing she had ever known. She glanced around the crowd, searching frantically for the source of the bad vibrations. She found nothing. Then, just as quickly as they hit her, the bad vibrations began to ebb and soon disappeared. Constance knew that she ought to take it as a warning, but she decided against it. She saw it as a false alarm, a outgrowth of her own anxiety. Quentin touched her hand, effectively breaking her trance. She took his hand and followed him inside.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.