Subj: Charade: Chapter 21
Date: 1/6/02 3:17:48 AM Central Standard Time
From: Nicole

December 10, 2008, Collinwood, 1:37 AM-Normal Time

Constance stared ahead, her eyes focusing slowly on the hallway before her. She had been there before but she could not remember when. The image was bleak, discomforting. If she was so disturbed by the scene, why didn't she realize where she was? Suddenly, the memories flooded back into her mind: the doors, the figure at the end of the hall, the person with the knife, and, of course, Gwynneth's tearful trek toward destruction. "God, why am I here again!" This had started as a wicked vision; Constance knew that it could not be an actuality . . . at least she hoped not. At least Gwynneth wasn't in the room. As long as she didn't enter, everything would be fine.

Constance turned to walk away but stopped when she heard the quiet weeping of a child. She spun back to the door to see Gwynneth beginning her march, weeping as she checked each locked door. Constance found herself screaming for her daughter to listen, begging the poor girl to leave the hallway. But just as it had in her vision, the figure appeared behind Gwynneth, welding its knife high as it crept behind the unsuspecting child. Constance knew how the show would end. She turned away and shut her eyes, hoping that the action would play out as quickly as possible. She had been there before and knew that she was useless to all involved.

When Constance opened her eyes, she realized that she was in another place. Beneath her, she felt the firmness of the mattress and a warm hand loosely grasping her hip. She smelled the scent of sweat salted flesh and sex. Her eyes shifted up to see a peacefully sleeping Quentin. ‘It was only a dream,' she thought. ‘It's nothing more.' Constance sighed and eased back into her lover's body, hoping that his seemingly perfect slumber would help her along to one of her own. Yet the moment she grew peaceful, she felt Quentin stir, first moving his arm from her side and then his body slipping away from her grip. Through slit eyes, she watched as he leapt from the bed and paced the floor, his hand covering his mouth to muffle the few strangled moans he emitted. "What's wrong, darling?" asked Constance with a sleeper's rasp.

Quentin jumped when he heard his voice. Even with only the moon's dim illumination, Constance could tell that his face was flush. His eyes had grown to an abnormally large size, looking both horrified and vulnerable. "I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

"You didn't. I was already up." Constance pulled herself to a sitting position, making sure to keep her eyes on Quentin as she moved. "Would you believe it, I had a bad dream and I woke myself up?"

"I can imagine."

"Really?"

"The same thing happened to me," explained Quentin. "My dream was your I-Ching vision, Constance. I saw it all."

"Dear God, that's what happened to me. Well, I didn't dream the whole thing. I got up to the point where the person was after Gwyn and then I just shut down."

"What does it mean?" Quentin moved back to the bed, falling weakly into Constance's open arms. He let her pull him close, molding his body into hers as he moaned, "I don't see what this could mean."

"Neither do I, love. Neither do I." Constance slipped her hand under his chin and turned his face up to hers. "What do we do now?"

"We check on Gwynneth."

"But it was just a dre . . . "

"It doesn't matter!" insisted Quentin. "We have to make sure that Gwyn, and William for that matter, are safe. I won't be able to sleep until I know for sure."

Constance nodded. She knew exactly how he felt. "Then lets go."

The duo sluggishly jumped from the bed and threw on the closest clothes they could grab. After getting fairly well situated, they ran out of their room for children's rooms. They agreed that Constance would check on William and Quentin would check on Gwynneth. Although she was worried sick over her daughter, she could tell that the dream had truly chilled her partner. She had been reliving a past vision; he was experiencing this horror for the first time.

Constance silently crept into William's room. She had walked into a pitch black space; only the dim luminescence from the hallway gave her any light. Constance didn't need it because her night vision was beyond excellent. To her relief, William lay sound asleep. She quietly moved toward the bed to smooth a thick black curl from his forehead only to see the boy turn to face her. His eyes fluttered open the moment she touched. "What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing, honey," whispered Constance. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine." William yawned and groggily lifted himself to a sitting position. He blinked a few times before reaching out for his glasses. He looked back up at his mother and said, "I felt you when you came in the room. I could tell that something was wrong. What is it?"

"Nothing, Will. It was just a bad dream."

William nodded and lowered himself back into the bed. His face scrunched suddenly and he turned to the door. Constance followed his gaze to see Quentin blocking the light. William glanced back up to his mother and asked, "Okay, something's really wrong. What's going down?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Constance turned back to Quentin and asked, "Was she there?" Quentin shook his head. "Are you sure?"

"I looked over every inch of the room," answered Quentin with faux calm. He walked to Constance and knelt next to the bed. "I would've torn the room apart if it had led me to her. Will, do you know where she might be?"

"East wing," whispered William. "She's in the east wing."

"But she promised not to . . . "

"Gwynneth promises to do a lot of things and ends up going back on her word. I wonder who she got that from?"

Quentin looked down at the floor. Constance reached out to put her hand on her lover's shoulder, but he drew away from her. Quentin was beyond angry."Now's not the time to bring up the past . . . especially a past some of us weren't around to remember."

"Just calling it the way I see it."

"Will, quit peaking into your father's mind!" Constance moved away from the bed and helped Quentin to his feet. "To the east wing?"

"Yep."

Quentin ran ahead of her. Constance began to walk out the door but stopped. She turned back and swept William up into her arms. "Wanna hunt for Gwyn?"

"Why not? I wouldn't have been able to sleep until I knew that you had found her."

The duo dashed out of William's room and caught up with Quentin. None of them wanted to go directly to the east wing. They split up for a while, Quentin on his own and Constance with William, and searched the rest of the west wing and the main building. William felt some traces of his sister in the drawing room, but he said that it all felt days old. He was certain that she had wandered off the east wing.

The three began to take off for the east wing when they heard footsteps creep on the landing. Quentin bounded out of the drawing room. A few moments later, Constance heard him say, "We were worried sick about you!"

Constance slipped out of the room to see Gwynneth standing on the landing. She looked surprised to see them, her large brown eyes beamed oddly down on her family. If Constance didn't know better, she would have sworn that Gwynneth didn't seem to recognize them. But now wasn't the time to worry about that. She had to know what was going on. "Where were you, Gwynneth?"

"I...I was about to go back to my room," she whispered. Hesitantly, she began to walk down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister and the other loosely holding her plush Tigger. "I couldn't sleep. I was having these weird nightmares and I just kept waking up. I thought I could walk off some stress and then run back to bed."

"God, hon! I was so scared for you." Quentin wrapped the girl in his arms the moment she touched down on the bottom step. He held her tightly as he quietly wept. The look on his face was a mixture of pain and relief. He had been much more worried than Constance had realized. "Please, Gwyn, don't do that again," he said, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

Gwynneth pulled away. She looked at his face suspiciously, her tiny eyebrows raised in curiosity as she scanned her father's face. "Why were you worried about me?" she asked quietly. "Why shouldn't I go back?"

"Gwyn, I love you. You're daddy's little girl. You know this," explained Quentin. "You don't know all that I would do for you. I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to you."

Constance was surprised by how Gwynneth's face crumbled. She began to weep as she wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she wailed. "No one's ever said anything like that to me. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm so . . . "

"Shh, it's all right." Constance approached the duo and wrapped her arms around them. She kissed Gwynneth's cheek and said, "It's going to be fine, darling. Just don't go back there. Keep your promise."

Gwynneth looked up at Constance and her tears seemed to immediately cease. "Okay, mom," she said stoically. "I won't go back to the room. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'll do what you say."

"Good girl." Constance looked behind her to see that William remained in the drawing room. He stared at the scene skeptically. He didn't seem to believe his senses. "Come here, Will. No one means to leave you out."

William swallowed hard and joined his family. Both Constance and Quentin placed a hand on the boy and smiled. William sighed and laid his head on his mother's hand. Automatically, he reached up to touch Gwynneth. The girl moved out of his grasp instantly. She looked down on her brother with cold contempt as she increased her grip on her father. "What's wrong, Gwyn?" asked William slowly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she clipped. Gwynneth turned back to Quentin and said, "I'm finally sleepy. I want to go to bed, daddy."

"You're right," concurred Quentin. "I think we've all had enough excitement for one night." He broke away from the group with Gwynneth firmly implanted in his arms. Quentin got up to the landing before realizing that no one was following him. He looked down to Constance and asked, "Are you coming?"

"Give me a sec. I want to talk to Will alone for a minute, okay?" Quentin nodded and soon vanished behind the door with Gwynneth. Constance took William by the hand and led him back into the drawing room. William broke away to retrieve Gwynneth's abandoned stuffed animal. He held the brightly colored cat close to his chest as he walked into the room. Constance shut the doors behind them and ushered her son onto the sofa. "It's okay, Will. I don't think Gwyn meant anything by it," she cooed. "She's probably just tired."

"I don't know," whispered William. "It was so weird how she started crying. I mean, she knows how much we all love her and yet she always does that odd stuff that would get another person killed or trapped. What was different this time?"

"I don't know. Maybe Gwyn's realizing that her actions have consequences and is beginning to feel guilty for it?"

"Maybe," conceded William. His face had constricted into a firm scowl. He loosened his grip on Tigger and looked up at his mother. "But it's not just that. She gave in to you guys way too easy. The Gwyn I know would've put up a fight and she wouldn't have cried."

"You're right on that one." Constance fell back into the sofa, suddenly confused by her daughter's actions. Normally, she would never give in on an argument. Gwynneth Elise Collins could beat an opinion firmly into the ground and still be willing to go another ten rounds with the same topic. The fact that she had agreed to stay away from the east wing so quickly had felt bizarre. Then again, it could be easily explained away. "She was probably just tired. Give Gwyn some time to rest up and she'll be willing to slip out of her innocent statements and try to win a season pass back to the weird room."

"But . . . "

"But nothing." Constance groaned as she rose from the sofa. This night had been longer than she expected it to be. She was ready for it to end. She offered William her hand and asked, "Are you ready to go now?"

"Sure," answered William, he flung his arm over to Constance and she accepted them, pulling her son swiftly from the sofa and carrying him back to his room. She put her son the bed quietly, and ran off to her own bedroom.

Constance walked into the bedroom to find Quentin still awake. He sat in a chair close to the bed, one hand gripping his forehead and another caressing a nearly empty snifter. Constance walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around shoulders. He sighed as his head fell against her arm, his lips grazing the bend of her elbow as his eyelashes brushed a few residual tears onto her skin. Before kissing the top of his head, Constance whispered, "It's okay, darling. We found her and she's safe."

Quentin nodded his head against her arm. "I know," he whispered, "but I hate feeling so helpless. I hate crying; I hate feeling guilty; and I hate not knowing that you're all not safe."

"I understand, Quentin, but they're kids. You'll always fear for their safety, you'll probably feel guilty about the way you've treated them at least once more in your life, and you'll most definitely cry more for them as the years pass."

"You sure?"

"I've scheduled ‘mourning lost innocense' time into my calendar. It's 2:00 A.M. every Tuesday. Care to join me?"

"Maybe sometime." Quentin kissed her arm and whispered, "Now lets go to bed. I'm too damn tired for this drama."

Constance stood back and watched as Quentin stumbled from the chair to the bed. He had taken Gwynneth's disappearing act much too badly. Constance had known Quentin for many years. She had watched him lose his cool more times than she could count. This was a different kind of way for Quentin to lose is cool, only this was much more interesting to her. He looked so adorable when he was vulnerable. Under certain circumstances, she found vulnerable appealing. She was only sad that she was too tired to act on any resurrected lust. Constance sighed as she eased herself next to his body. On a night like this, this was pleasure enough for the weary.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.