Subj: Consequences of Falling ch. 54
Date: 8/9/01 10:18:23 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole

January 3, 2001, The Old House, 6:30 PM

Barnabas locked the metal door behind him. The night had fallen but traces of sunlight continued to leave the marks in the drawing room. Barnabas could still feel their affects and they sickened him. He would have hidden away an hour more had someone not been frantically knocking at the door. After emitting half-hearted grumbles the entire trek to the foyer, he opened the door and stepped away, gawking as Angelique nonchalantly walked in and looked around. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't you know?" she asked innocently. She glanced back to Barnabas and said, "I suppose not. God, this place is falling apart!"

"I don't need you to tell me that. Now why are you here?"

"I'm sorry. You should have been forewarned."

"That's all well and good, but you've not answered my question. For that matter, why was a crate delivered here a few days ago?"

"Ask Constance," said Angelique.

Constance walked in soon after, looking slightly dazed as she staggered into the house. She walked up to Barnabas and whispered, "Can we talk?"

They walked into the drawing room, the crate drawing Constance's attention away from the matter at hand. Barnabas groaned as he watched her examine the crate, her face glowing as she rounded it. "Why are you here? Is this is one of your far fetched schemes to find Quentin? I'm sorry but I don't have the nerve to be involved anymore."

Constance ignored him. She opened the box with the crowbar atop it and began to pull out the contents. There were two frames inside, both covered with sheets and sealed in bubble wrap. She carefully unwrapped one of the frames and stood back, smiling as she said, "I'm finally realizing how good this looks."

"I'm sorry, Constance. I know this must be a blow to you."

"Why?"

"The portrait has reverted back to its original state. You do know what that means?"

Constance shrugged, staring innocently down on a young Quentin. She carefully placed the portrait in a chair and began unwrapping the second parcel. When she pulled away the sheet, Barnabas felt compelled to turn away. The man in the portrait was horrific, having deteriorated to a state of unbearable depravity since the last time he saw it. "This is the real portrait," she said quietly. "I painted the other. The family has been asking about the famed "Portrait of Quentin Collins" for over a quarter century, begging Quentin to tell them where he's hidden it. I painted this in 1975. Quentin told me it was an exact copy. I'll give it to them in a few days."

"Did you only return to deliver a fake portrait?" Barnabas turned sharply to the sound of a man's voice coming from the foyer. Once the man came into view, Barnabas gasped. "Chris!"

The man looked confused, his bright blue eyes stretched to their limit as he walked into the drawing room. "Why do you call me that?" He turned to Constance and asked, "Astrid, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just a case of mistaken identity." Constance took the man's hand and took him to Barnabas. "This is Barnabas Collins. We'll be living with him for awhile. And this is Cameron. He's our traveling companion."

Barnabas shook Cameron's outstretched hand. This boy's resemblance to Chris was chilling. He glanced to Constance, whose face confirmed the boy's identity. Cameron suddenly noticed the portraits. "Who is that?" he asked shyly.

"Ah, this is my 'ancestor' Quentin Collins," cooed Constance, careful to keep the boy's eyes on the fake. "He supposedly was an extremely charming scoundrel. The portrait was painted in 1897 shortly before he fled Collinsport to create my line of the family."

"So you're a Collins?"

"Kinda." Constance walked back to the boy and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now can you help Angelique unload the car?"

Cameron nodded and left the room. Barnabas moved closer to Constance and asked, "What is he doing here?"

"He was stranded," she whispered. "He said he was going to Collinsport and we picked him up."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"I don't have a clue." Constance jogged from the room and out of the house. Barnabas noticed that she had somehow subtly put Quentin's actual portrait in the box without Cameron ever noticing it. She returned a few minutes later with a Polaroid. "Does this look like Cameron?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm going to show it to Chris."

"When are you going to see Chris?" asked Barnabas anxiously.

"I'm going to Windcliffe tomorrow." Constance's smile fell through as she mumbled, "Someone set it up for me."

Barnabas nodded. He could read between the lines: Julia. Constance walked closer and said, "I'm going alone. I'm sure that if you asked Angelique nicely, she would watch you during the day."

"I...I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't lie to me, not about this." Constance grabbed his arm and whispered, "I know that you've reverted. You can't hide it from me. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No. You are the last person I would confide in."

Constance flinched and backed away as if hit. She started to leave the drawing room but turned back abruptly. She swiped up the portraits and cradled them close to her as she fled. She turned back and said, "I know you don't like me and I accept that. I know that we've inconvenience you and I am so sorry. But we can help you, I'm sure of it." She backed away, carefully moving into the foyer and checking to see if anyone else was around. "And I'm so sorry about Julia. She loved you so."

Barnabas dropped his head. "Yes," he mumbled. "Yes, I know."

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