Subj: Consequences of Falling ch. 58
Date: 8/12/01 9:41:06 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole

January 6-7, 2001, Collinsport Inn/Collinwood/Rose Cottage

Constance could not stay in that house one moment longer. She had called Chris, begging him to pick her up and help her take the portrait to Collinwood. She could have done this on her own but she did not want to be alone. However, they did not go straight to Collinwood, choosing to drive around in virtual silence until 10:00 AM. They stopped at the Collinsport Inn and had coffee, the diner completely empty except for them and the waitress. "We can't be like this," she whispered. "I want you to talk to me."

Chris stared at her a moment, cigarette in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. "I've been thinking," he finally murmured, "thinking about the fates of everyone I used to know. Carolyn and Joe are married and have three kids. Maggie and Willie are married and they too have three kids. David has four kids between two women."

"He drove Hallie to the bottle, divorced her, and married the much younger Maryam Chandler, who's given birth the the bulk of the kids," added Constance.

"I see you've done your homework too." Chris leaned in closer to Constance, his eyes bravely meeting hers. "Do you also envy them?"

"Why?"

"They have been allowed to move on. You and I are stuck in our respective pasts. Why? Don't we deserve to move on, to have answers, to have lives outside of his Hell!" Chris fell back into his chair, finishing of his cigarette and lighting another immediately. "I came back here 33 years ago to find out about my brother and to cure myself. I've made little to no progress on either front in over 30 years. Do you know how bad that feels?"

"I never heard about your brother."

"He died under mysterious circumstances."

"Well, once this is all over, I can help you," offered Constance.

"Won't you be ready to move on after all this is over?"

"Yes but it won't hurt to help you." Constance reached across the table and took Chris' hand into hers. "You seem to think that, had things gone differently, I wouldn't be here. You weren't the only one who was supposed to have a future. Had it not been for some heinous meddling, I would have had a 24 year old who would either be a carrier or a sufferer of Quentin's curse. More than likely, you and I would be working towards the same goals. We all have things we have to move beyond. I want to help you." Chris nodded and moved in closer, his face easing towards hers. Constance looked away and checked her watch. "It's 10:30. We need to go to Collinwood."

Chris nodded and they left. Constance could tell he was embarrassed. She could not alleviate his pain, though. She knew that some triangles are best left not built. She could barely look at Chris. The only time she did, she noticed that the sunlight seemed to giving him much hassle. Constance pilfered through her purse and retrieved a pair of sunglasses, which Chris accepted wordlessly. Neither of them spoke the rest of the ride back to Collinwood.

Constance felt uncomfortable once they were at the door to Collinwood. This was the trip she had not wanted to take. If it were not for Quentin, she would have remained away. With him in mind, she knocked at the door. After a few minutes, a lovely young man answered the door. Constance knew that he could be no older than 22. "Hello," she purred. "I am Astrid Douglas. This is my companion Timothy Bell. I called earlier. I've brought it."

The young man's smile broadened as he ushered them inside. "Hello," he said, his voice rich, melodic. "I'm Vaughn."

"Vaughn?" asked Constance.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Vaughn Haskell. I assumed you would know. I'm sorry."

"No need for that." Constance could not help but stare at him. A certain piece of her could not believe that Carolyn, who could have married Josef years before, now had an adult son. The mere thought of the botched marriage made her want to laugh. That debacle had been the last laugh she had had in Collinsport. But she knew it was best not to laugh, best not to look foolish in front of the shy young man. She decided to jump to the reason for her visit. She tapped the antique frame with black lacquered nails as she said, "This is it."

"And in return, you'd like to go through your father's things?" asked Vaughn.

"Yes."

"Sounds more than fair to me. Of course, you'll have to clear it with my mom. She is mistress of the house."

"Of course." Constance followed as Vaughn led she and Chris into the drawing room. At the piano sat a dark blonde woman who was almost reminiscent of her mother. At the fireplace sat her male counterpart, his eyes landing solely on Constance. "Excuse me," she said. "Is your mother in?"

"She's behind you." Constance spun on her heels to see Carolyn in the doorway. She had obviously matured, a sophisticated woman replacing the wild child Constance had known. Yet Carolyn still had the privileged look in her eyes, the degrading stares that made Constance feel unworthy. She had seen that look at least once in the eyes of almost every Collins she had ever met. Only on Carolyn did this look seem lethal. Carolyn seemed stunned for a moment, her eyes studying Chris before she introduced her remaining children, Ariel and Hunter. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Astrid. It's a shame that we did not meet under more favorable circumstances."

"I quite agree, Mrs. Haskell." Constance watched as Hunter sprung from his perch and sat a chair next to her. She thanked him profusely and sat Quentin's portrait in the chair. When she removed the sheet, she was shocked by Carolyn's expression. She began praying to every deity she had ever heard of to reassure her that she had taken the reproduction and not Quentin's actual portrait. "Wh...what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," sniffled Carolyn. She dabbed her eye with an ornate handkerchief and turned to Constance. "Have you noticed how much you father resembled this man?"

"Yes. It's really quite shocking."

Carolyn nodded. The demonic gleam leapt into her eyes as she asked. "How do you know that this is the original Tate and not a knock-off."

Constance repressed her groans. Leave it to Carolyn to want authentication. "Mr. Bell is an expert in late 19th Century American art." Constance turned to Chris, saying, "You can authenticate this, can't you Tim?"

Chris smiled weakly and walked in front of the portrait. Constance did not know if he could pull it off, but she hoped that he could bluff his way through it. "I've always thought Tate a traditionalist," said Chris, his voice finding a tone of faux authority. "While the rest of the world was experimenting with light and texture, Tate used the same techniques used by artist for years, centuries even. See the brushstrokes? Traditional. Besides, the signature is the way Tate always signed it. This is an original, no doubt about it."

"Really?" Carolyn approached the portrait and stroked the frame. "And you're willing to give us this portrait."

"Yes and in return, I want access to my father's things."

"That's fair." She turned away but turned back. It shocked Constance to see the sincere sympathy spread through Carolyn's features. "Where are you staying, Astrid?"

"I...I don't know."

"Then please stay with us." Carolyn turned to Chris and slyly asked, "Will you stay too?"

"No thank you," murmured Chris. "I have a place to stay. I'm much better acquainted with Collinsport than Astrid."

"Very well. Astrid, I'll have a room prepared...or would you prefer to stay in Quentin's room."

"I would."

"Fine but I must warn you that the west wing becomes extremely cold at night. Will that bother you?"

"No. The cold has never bothered me."

"It never bothered your mother either." Carolyn shuddered quietly. "Your mother was a strange woman. I didn't mean to be rude." She smiled awkwardly a she said, "I'll take you to his room. You'll find it rather peaceful in the west wing. No one lives there anymore. Come to think of it, the only person I can remember living there is Quentin."

Constance was not listening to her. She was longing to enter Quentin's room, to feel the things he had touched and possibly feel his presence amongst his belongings. She did not want to be with Chris if it happened. She wanted to be alone and let the warmth wash over her in peace. But she knew that she needed Chris for the time being. It was best not to piss off her helper.

Carolyn unlocked and opened the door, allowing it to swing open on rusted hinges. "Here you go. It might be a little dusty but the room is as Quentin left it."

Constance nodded and stepped in. The room was as she remembered it, only now covered in grainy dust. Before Carolyn left, Constance made the announcement she knew would be mildly controversial. "I'm taking the gramophone with me." Carolyn's eyes widened and she left the room. Constance pulled Chris inside the room and locked the door. "Take anything that is distinctly Quentin."

"All right." Chris walked to the window and asked, "Do you think she'll stop you from taking the gramophone?"

"I'd like to watch her stop me," mumbled Constance. They said nothing else as they piled objects on the bed. She did not know what to tell Chris. Could she cure him? There was a good possibility that she could. Could she give him his life back? Not a chance. She wanted him to find peace but he would not find peace with her. "Chris," she whispered. "What will you do once this is over?"

"I don't know," he answered in monotone. "I don't know what I can do."

"What did you do before?"

"I wrote."

"The profession of the lost," sighed Constance. She took a seat on the bed and looked back up at Chris. "Should I give you more money?"

"No."

"What if I arranged for you to have a job?"

"No!" Chris knelt in front of Constance and said, "You're not offering me what I want."

"And I can't give you that."

Chris sighed and sat against the bed. "I suppose you can't. It's perfectly fine. I shouldn't have asked."

"No you shouldn't have." Constance slipped from the bed and placed her hand on Chris' shoulder. "Listen, I'll help you as best I can but the rest is up to you."

"I know that," said Chris anxiously. "I'm just not sure if I can live again."

"We do what we can." Constance checked her watch, glad to have a reason to turn away. "It's almost midnight. I'll help you take this stuff to the car and you can take it to the Old House. Then go back into town and get some sleep. You need it. I'll call you, okay."

"That's fine." Chris looked over to her, careful not to show any emotion on his face. "What do you want me to do about looking for Quentin?"

"I still want you too look for him."

"I'm just saying that I can only check the docks and the Blue Whale so many times."

"Very funny, Chris," snapped Constance. "Just check anywhere."

Chris nodded and rose to his feet. "I was thinking about following that Josef character you were talking about at Windcliffe," he said as he began to pick up some of the things from the bed.

"I thought the authorities would have him after that stunt he pulled a few days ago."

"Well, the Collinsport boys in blue aren't the most effecient at keeping the bad guys under wraps. Listen, he attempted to drug Cameron and he tried to shoot me. The next person to attack next is obviously Quentin."

"True. I wish I had thought of that." She looked up at Chris, who tried his best to pay her no mind. "You're proving yourself most useful."

"I do my best, Constance." He helped her to her feet and kissed her hand. "But you don't really care about that, do you?"

"I might not, but you'll see that someone does...someday."

"That's not reassuring."

"Then don't come to me. I'm not keen on reassuring anyone of anything," said Constance, her arms full of trinkets. She unlocked the door clumsily and held the door for Chris. When he walked by, she whispered, "Don't look to family for what's best gotten from strangers."

"You're not really my family."

"Lets pretend I am." Constance kicked Chris' shin and they left the room, arms full of things they probably would not need.

After removing the chosen wares from the room, Constance trudged back to the west wing, slightly saddened as she entered Quentin's room. The room was freezing cold. She would have lit a fire had she been able to find the grate for the fireplace. Since she could not, she buttoned her coat and climbed into bed with her boots on. As she lay there she began to feel warmth envelop her and she soon eased into sleep. As she slept, she imagined herself in the hammock again, the sun warming her body as she rocked in Quentin's arms.

Constance awoke to sharp knocking at the door. As she rose to answer, she realized that her coat was laying neatly across a chair. She smiled briefly for Quentin and answered the door. "Hello Vaughn."

"I'm sorry to bother you but you've been invited to Rose Cottage."

"Why?"

"Maggie Loomis wants you to come to late dinner," answered Vaughn.

"How did she know that I was here?"

"I let it slip while I was talking to Drusilla, her youngest daughter. Maggie knew your parents and she wants to meet you."

Constance could not repress her grin. She would see an old friend although she was being deceptive to do so. "I'll go."

"Good. I'll take you around 8 o'clock. You don't know how much Maggie wants to see you."

Constance later understood. Maggie practically jumped her as she walked through the door, hugging her tighter than anyone had in awhile. "You're so lovely," she cooed. "You look just like your mother."

"Is that good?"

"Your mother was a wonderful woman. I wish you could have known her and your father."

"So do I." Constance listened as Maggie told her about how she and Willie restored Rose Cottage and how this job led to a profitable restoration business. Willie was in Bangor consulting. Drusilla sat at the stairwell with Vaughn, appearing closer than Constance had imagined they would be. Saul, the middle son, was at college. Andrew, the 28 year old who Constance had once held in her arms, would return with his girlfriend. She was shocked when she saw them. As she had expected, Andrew had grown into an attractive man. His girlfriend was the shock. She pulled the blonde into the parlor and locked the doors. "Angelique! Is he your 'friend' from before?"

"Maybe," purred Angelique. Her face suddenly became serious and she asked, "Did you find what you needed in Quentin's room?"

"I don't know. Don't change the subject!" Constance walked closer to Angelique, her lips brushing her ear as she asked, "How did you meet?"

"I met Andrew a year ago. I didn't recognize him but much changes in 27 years. For Andrew, at least, the changes were for the better. He introduced himself, I treated him to lunch, he treated me to dinner, and..."

"You helped yourselves to dessert?" Angelique smiled. "God! All of this is bizarre. Get this: Chris likes me the wrong way."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know! I don't know what to do with Chris. I don't know what to do with Cameron. I don't know where Quentin is. This is daunting. They are one fucked up family."

They said nothing more on the subject. Drusilla fetched them and soon they were all gathered around the table, the couples on the sides with Constance and Maggie facing one another on the ends. She could not remember eating anything, choosing to drink red wine and listen to the others chatter. Thankfully, none of it turned to her "family" and Constance enjoyed herself for the first time in months. For 4 hours, she was able to forget her mission and just exist.

Constance left Rose Cottage alone. Angelique and Vaughn were too intoxicated to help her home. Maggie had offered Constance a room for the night but she declined. The moment she stepped outside, she wished she had stayed. Through the bare tree limbs she could see the nearly full moon. She was no closer to curing the Jennings father and son than she been before arriving in Collinsport. Constance hated to admit defeat but she felt that she had no choice. She felt as if she had wasted 25 years searching for something long gone.

Constance ran through the hibernating woods, slipping through the snow as she headed back to Collinwood. the trek differed greatly from the one she had made with Quentin 29 years before. That trip had been stressful but rewarding because they later admitted their secrets and confirmed their love for one another. This trip would be much more painful, knowing she would have to walk those steps alone this time. But Constance realized too quickly that she was not alone. She turned around to see a young woman emerge from behind a tree. She was a petite young thing, possibly five-one and no older than 20. "Who are you?" demanded Constance.

"I am Kelene Sheridan." She walked towards Constance, her hands rammed in an over-sized trench coat. She looked worried, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "I'm here to see Cameron Stuart. Do you know where I can find him?"

Constance moved closer to Kelene but backed away. She felt bizarre, muted vibrations from Kelene. Constance had a theory but she did not want to verify if. "Tell me what you want and I'll tell you where to find Cameron."

Kelene groaned. She leaned on the nearest tree and wrapped her arms around the trunk. "I'm pregnant with Cameron's child. Will you tell me where he is now?"

"Another werewolf, great," she muttered softly. Constance moved closer to Kelene. The girl's fear rose from her skin. "I'll take you where Cameron is living. I don't know if he's there right now but he does live there."

"Thank you!" cried Kelene.

Constance quickly silenced the girl. "No need to thank me. Now come on, it's a bit of a walk to get to the house." Constance extended her hand and said, "My name is Astrid. We have much to talk about."

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.