Subj: Consequences of Falling ch. 40
Date: 8/1/01 5:52:27 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole

The day before the full moon, Spring 1976

Quentin hated anticipating Petofi's orders. He had not wanted to go back to Petofi, but he felt that he had no choice. Petofi would have hurt Constance had Quentin not returned to the fold. Of course she would be angry with him for returning to Petofi's service, but he would have to make her understand that he was protecting her. Quentin felt that Constance suspected that something was amiss. She rarely let him out of her sight, only letting him be when she and Avery would go rummage through her books.

Angelique would come with Avery. She often chose to sit with Quentin,seemingly willing to do whatever he wanted. He knew that she was keeping on eye on him. He would have rather walked alone, but he knew that she would be watching him with or without his permission. It was best to allow her to come along. Nothing much was said between them. There was nothing to be said. Their relationship had initially been a dance between attraction and revulsion, alternating between one oft denied night of passion to their more frequent fights over his relationship with Amanda Harris. Now they merely got along, their common bond being a highly knowledgeable Constance. Her knowledge of Quentin's past and her following trust always shocked him, but he had to remember that she was not one of the innocents he often attracted. She had a past and little of it was reputable.

Angelique eventually broke the silence. She quietly moved to him on the beach, moving not chose enough enough to touch but close enough to talk softly. "Why won't you tel her what is bothering you?"

Quentin wanted to ignore her. He stared out onto the ocean a few more moments before realizing that he could not. "Who said that something was bothering me?" he asked.

"No one. I just know."

"What if you're wrong?"

"How often am I wrong?"

"Shall I count the instances? We do have an eternity," snapped Quentin.

"And once you finish, I could count all the times you've acted without thinking. How long do you think that would take?" demanded Angelique.

"Touché."

Angelique nodded and stepped in front of Quentin. She caught his gaze, holding it firmly as she spoke. "Do you love Constance?"

"Yes, I love her! I would do nothing to harm her."

"So you have to realize that, for some bizarre reason, Constance worships the ground you walk on. Constance would do anything to protect your undeserving hide. Tell her your problem and she will help you as best she can, which is more than you can ask for."

Quentin did not want to listen. There was nothing he wanted more than to tell all to Constance and have her say that all would end well. But he knew of her failure with Corrin. How could she help him, especially with Petofi's involvement? Besides, if she knew and she could not help him, she would be forced to stand aside and watch his downward spiral brought on by either Petofi's degradation or the wolf's. Quentin wanted to stall her pain as long as possible.

Quentin could only protect her until the night before the full moon. Constance had hesitantly gone into town with Angelique and Avery. He had urged her to go. Quentin had had a feeling that trouble would arrive tonight and he wanted Constance as far away as possible when it happened. Once the trio left, Quentin ran through the house opening all the doors and turning on all the lights. He would not be surprised by any sudden arrivals. Yet he was frightened by a knock at the front door. After pacing the living room a minute, he reluctantly answered the door. Petofi stood there, a distorted smile plastered across his lips. "I've seen her, my boy. You are very lucky. She's so very beautiful."

"It was my understanding that if I helped you, you would leave my wife out of this. Why were you around Constance?" demanded Quentin.

"I didn't harm a hair on her pretty head." Petofi invited himself inside, quietly pushing past Quentin as he walked into the living room. He glanced around the room, mumbling lush affirmations before taking a seat on a plush sofa. "This place has her fingerprint, but I'm digressing. My visit has nothing to do with your lovely lover or her taste. But you already knew that."

"Yes." Quentin walked sluggishly into the living room, taking a seat in the ornate high back chair in front of Petofi. He attempted to size Petofi up but could not. But he had never been good about that anyway. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh, I have a dangerous mission for you Quentin. This is a harrowing job, but I think you can do it."

"What do I have to do?"

"I want you to kill. You haven't forgotten how to kill, have you Quentin?"

"I need a little more information. Who am I supposed to kill?" asked Quentin anxiously.

"Angelique Bouchard."

Although Quentin knew Petofi was serious, it did not stop him from bursting into laughter and nearly falling from his chair. "I won't kill Angelique! She'll never let me rest."

"Your wife?" asked Petofi.

"And Angelique. You can't honestly believe that someone as powerless as I could completely destroy someone as powerful as Angelique. Why do you want her dead?"

"The moment I met Angelique she became a thorn in my side. She has friendly relations with your wife and that makes her dangerous once again. There are two distinct solutions to this problem: kill your wife or kill Angelique. Killing Constance would be pointless. To kill Angelique would help prove your loyalty. If you're clever, you're beloved will never know what you did, allowing you to console her and serve me simultaneously. Besides, an associate of mine agrees that she must die."

"An associate? Since when did you make friends and why are you leasing me out to them?"

"Does it matter? Will you do it?"

"No!" Quentin bolted from the chair and charged into Petofi's face. "I won't kill for you, not like this. And how dare you use me to avenge your friend's vendettas!"

Petofi rose from his seat, ruefully shaking his head as he walked toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back to Quentin. "You know that you'll transform into the wolf tomorrow night, don't you?"

"Yes. It will be easier to deal with that than deal with the consequences of my actions."

"Let's see how you feel after the full moon." With that, Petofi tipped his hat and left the house.

"All of this anxiety, this pain...and for nothing!" screamed Quentin once he was sure Petofi was far away. He wanted to wail, to break every object in sight until his frustration ease. But he did not, choosing to flee the house. He did not want to be home when Constance returned. Quentin stopped once he hit the sea. He stared out onto the night black water as he threw the dead shells into the sea, finding this act surprisingly comforting. He also knew that this simple act would be impossible for the next night or two, knowing that the wolf would find n release at the ocean unless it was attempting to end it all.

And now Quentin would have to tell Constance about the relapse. She would have to forgive him. Quentin had lost his cure because he had refused to kill her friend. It was a statement to the power she held over him. But she seemed to have power over almost everyone. Even Petofi seemed to like her. Then again, he always found the particulars of Quentin's life of some interest. As if struck by lightening, it all began to make sense to Quentin. "Oh God, not again!" Quentin knew that Petofi was once again trying to wear him down so that he might steal his body. "But why? If he survived the fire in Tate's studio, he should be able to survive anything." Suddenly, Quentin remembered his new impressions of the hand. He had always thought that it looked strange, but now it appeared hideous, as if it were rotting. "He's dying," he whispered. "His body is failing him and he wants mine so that he might continue to live." Quentin realized that he was trapped. If he refused Petofi, he would be forced to once again fear the full moon. If he returned to Petofi, he would once again lose his freedom and would eventually die in the deteriorating body. He was caught.

Quentin went back to the house two hours later, hoping that Constance had returned. He ran through the house calling her name, only finding his echo to answer him. He eventually make his way to their bedroom and there she stood, her forehead pressed to the window as moonlight fell over her naked shoulders. Constance only wore a white translucent sheet that she held wrapped around her waist. She seemed to beam, to glow with an inner light. All he wanted to do was to hold her, to never let her go until forced to. Once she saw him, Constance pulled away from the window, sucking in her breath as she backed away. "Constance," he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't..."

"Shh," she warned, extending her hand as if to stop him. "You don't have to apologize. If you want to go out and do as you please, I don't care."

"No! Constance, I was sitting on the beach. I wasn't with anyone else. There's no one else," he said as he approached her. "There never will be."

Constance ran into his arms, allowing him to envelop her in his arms. Quentin had never realized how fragile she could become, how vulnerable this creature could actually feel. He pulled her away slightly and tilted her chin towards his face. "Constance, I have to tell you..."

"No," she whispered, pressing her finger to his lips. She soon replaced it with her lips, wrapping her hands around him so that the sheet slipped from her hips and hung on the leg she had entwined between his. "It's late," she explained quietly. "You can't do anything tonight. I'm going to bed. Are you?"

Quentin said nothing as Constance released him and pulled away, dragging the sheet behind her as she slipped into their bed. She was right: there was nothing he could do this night. And he was not going to let her get away. She had felt so warm, so gentle in his arms when he had kissed her. Something had been different but he could not figure out what it was. He liked it nonetheless. Quentin decided that if he would have to face Hell tomorrow, he would find oblivion in Constance's arms before he went.

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