Shadows On the Wall

Chapter 64: Such Stuff As Dreams

by Midnight


"We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep..."

-- The Tempest, Act IV, Scene 1


(Grayson Hall) "For the residents of Collinwood, the past, present, and future
have merged in frightening ways as a man with a mysterious past returns to
claim all he feels is due him, Vicki struggles with the evil inside her, and
some have frightening premonitions of a terror to come ... yet no one knows
precisely how real, or how close, the danger is to them."



Danielle ceased the insane pacing to vent her frustration on an innocent plant,
then thought better of it when its metal pot clanged onto the floor. Bored with
living someone else's dim life, she knew she needed a plan, but the squeaky
footsteps outside the study let her know that what she got was an audience. She
smoothed her hair and tugged on her suede mini before a head topped with
snow-white hair poked in.

The stranger winked, and after he stepped inside she could see he was
impeccably dressed in a blue suit and shiny black shoes. "May I come in?" he
asked.

"You're in. Now go away!" she barked.

"Oh dear," he said, the affable smile fading a little. "Your mother said she
hadn't seen you all day. May I ask what she told you?"

"I know only that you're a fool."

His face flushed. "Is that what she called me?" That lying bitch, he was
thinking as he closed the door soundlessly. "Five minutes is all I'm asking
for. Surely you can give me that?"

"You are living dangerously, monsieur. I don't know who you are, but if you
don't get out of here immédiatement..."

"Then your mother was telling the truth." He let out a deep sigh, and he was
smiling again. "I'd know you anywhere. You're as breathtakingly beautiful as
she was the day we met."

"Merde," she muttered.

"Carolyn, don't you realize who I am?" His eyes twinkled hopefully. "I'm Paul
Stoddard. I'm your father."

Something roused inside her. Things were looking up for Danielle Roget.

~*~

The grounds around the Old House were bursting with yellow crocuses, not that
Dr. Hoffman noticed. All her research, postulating, cross-checking and
experimentation culminated in today's event, but she knew she was ready. The
records had to be impeccable, and so she sat next to a tape recorder and
brought the microphone close to her mouth.

"Patient John Doe is a 23-year-old male of above average intelligence who
suffers from Stage 2 Lycanthropy. While the most common mode of transmission is
the bite of an infected individual, the subject's disease was passed in utero
from his mother, its origin firmly traced to a magical cause. I isolated the
believed agent, which is a bacterium that possesses the ability to store and
use magical energy. It is unique in that no ordinary bacterium is capable of
producing such rapid and dramatic results. In the subject's case, women are
carriers, but the disease itself only manifests in the oldest male of each
generation. I should note that John Doe is an identical twin, born a full 6
minutes ahead of his brother. While the twin is deceased, there's no evidence
to indicate that he suffered from the same affliction..." Julia took a deep
breath before continuing-- "and unusual circumstances preclude me from exhuming
the body in order to determine to what extent the bacteria are present.

"During Stage 1 Lycanthropy, which encompasses the period prior to the first
transformation, the bacterium reproduces and stores itself in bones and muscles
throughout the body. The individual cells of each have been completely
restructured by the onset of Stage 2, which is necessary in order for the first
transformation to occur. I've theorized that the bacteria remain active in the
body as long as the subject remains a lycanthrope, as it's required for
continued transformations to take place.

"The progression to Stage 2 also requires the presence of two important trigger
events. The first is the production of certain key hormones, which do not vary
from subject to subject. These hormones are produced by a subconscious reaction
to important stimuli within the individual. I believe that in John Doe's case,
the primary trigger was his awakening sexuality. The secondary vital trigger
event is the full moon.

"Once the transformation begins, the bacteria utilize an encoded biologic
blueprint within themselves to guide the changes along. This encoding tends to
remain the same over time, which is why all lycanthropes change into the same
form as the individual that infected them. It is a reserve of magical energy
that allows the transformations in Stage 2 Lycanthropy to occur in a matter of
minutes, and these transformations are extremely painful.

"If this patient was being treated for Stage 1 Lycanthropy, I believe a loading
dose of the serum followed by a finite series of booster injections would have
offered a complete and lasting cure, but because the disease has progressed to
Stage 2, the treatment will be more problematic and prolonged. If the patient
ever loses his desire to be cured, however, affecting a cure will become much
more difficult. For this reason, the subject's psychological makeup must be
closely monitored throughout treatment.

"The first serum developed to combat the bacteria, Lyco Morphic A, appeared
promising but unfortunately proved quite toxic to two infected mice within
hours of administration. A second serum, Lyco Morphic B, seemed to have no ill
effect. However, on the 2nd morning following administration to a single
infected mouse, I found that one other mouse in the cage had been disemboweled,
and the other two mice residing in the same cage had disappeared. Noting that
the stomach of the subject mouse was engorged, I could only conclude that he
had eaten them. Blood testing indicated that the subject mouse demonstrated
very high levels of dopamine, and therefore a dopamine antagonist has been
added to Lyco Morphic C to 'turn down' dopamine activity within the subject. No
ill effects have been observed 3 days post administration of Lyco Morphic C to
a new subject mouse. Today, John Doe is scheduled to receive his first
injection of Lyco Morphic C."

Julia pressed the off button on the tape machine and laid the microphone
diagonally across it. She longed for a cup of tea but lacked the energy to
steep it. Careful to not smear the mascara, she tugged at the skin around her
eyes before leaning back in the chair. What little sleep she allowed herself
the past several days had been interrupted by the onset of some unfortunate
dreams. There was little that Julia feared, except these particular nightmares
that plagued her and exploited a fear she'd harbored since childhood. She
settled back a little further and let her eyes close, if only for a second...

~*~

"A penny for your thoughts."

Her back was to him, and she halted midstep. 

Quentin repeated the question: "What's on your mind?"

She had eagerly agreed to join him for a stroll along the beach, but after
reaching the water's edge became oblivious to his presence as she silently
picked her way along the rocky shore while watching the waves dissolve before
returning to the sea.

She turned to regard him, her eyes like deep, mirrorless ponds. 

"Vicki?"

The same eyes focused on him now, dark circles visible beneath them, and she
flashed a shadowed smile. "I'm not being very good company. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he offered gently. He regarded her
carefully, then added, "Are you getting enough sleep?"

She thought about the recurring dreams-- the dark wings, the rattled
breathing-- then dismissed them from her mind just as quickly. "I'm fine," she
lied.

"I've always felt drawn to the ocean too, you know," he said. "I spent a
lifetime staring into it, wishing for someone like you to come along. And
another living only to see you again."

There it was. Quentin, she now realized, had twin memories, same as her. She
asked, "How much of my trip to the past do you remember?"

"All of it."

She grew quiet again, and returned to watching the water creep toward her, then
retreat. She screwed up her courage and asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

He rushed toward her, but she avoided him just as quickly. "Of course I'm not
afraid of you. I love you, Victoria."

"Maybe you *should* be afraid." She couldn't bear to look in his direction. "I
can feel myself being pulled toward a deep, dark place," she explained, "and it
never stops."

"You can fight it. You can fight the darkness inside. I know it."

"What if I can't?" she whispered. He caught up to her and was stroking her hair
softly, and he told her, "Our love will get you through this."

But what if that's not enough?, she asked silently. Her lover obviously had
more faith in her than she did. He'd be better off without me, she told
herself. She glanced upward toward Widow's Hill and thought about the pain he
endured over losing Beth. I can't walk out on him-- I can't put him through a
painful loss... again. Her thoughts turned to Jenny-- pitiful, mad Jenny. He
once cared about her; she was sure of that, but he had snapped his flippant
fingers and put her out of his mind. His denial of the feelings he once had for
his only wife began a chain of events that led to his curse, but to remain with
Vicki now could be far more dangerous.

She began to cry. I don't come with a guarantee, she wanted to say.

Vicki felt alone, isolated. She pictured herself struggling against the evil
inside her as the tides tugged her further from shore, and mounting waves
rocked her tiny boat of secrets, and though she was bailing as hard as she
could the water seemingly continued to rise around her.

~*~

She was in the basement laboratory but without the foggiest idea of what she
was supposed to be doing. She scanned the room for a clue but noticed that the
door to one of the cages was open, the mouse still inside, and so she rushed to
close it. That's when the small green head appeared beside her, bobbing above a
reedy neck. Its tongue flicked wildly, and Julia froze. If it wanted something
warm, she thought to herself, let it have the mouse. A cold fear overtook her,
and she opened her mouth to scream but made no sound.

"Julia? Julia!" His voice startled her, and she jumped.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "What's the matter with you?"

"It's you, Chris." She looked relieved. "I must've fallen asleep," she said,
stretching catlike.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I knew you were expecting me, and when you didn't answer
the door..."

"I'm alright, really. I only dozed off for a minute. I can always catch up on
my sleep later-- when your treatment is underway. Speaking of which," she
added, her tone more upbeat, "I'm ready to get started. Shall we head
downstairs?"

As they proceeded down the basement steps, she told him, "I hope you don't have
plans for the rest of the afternoon. I'd like to work out a treatment schedule
with you, and I'm assuming you have some questions."

"Oh, sure, sure." He could see the entire lab now, and it buoyed his confidence
to take in all that she and Barnabas had accomplished. "I'll do anything you
ask."

She motioned toward a metal chair before half-disappearing into a refrigerator,
and Chris found the silence awkward. "You know," he said loudly, "I still feel
bad about disturbing you. I know what it's like to not get enough sleep."

"Oh?" Her face was visible again, but she was frowning. "Chris, if you have any
doubts about the treatments, it's imperative that you tell them to me."

"No, I don't have any doubts," he deadpanned while eyeing the hypodermic she
was brandishing. "No doubts at all." Can a needle can't sting any worse than
love?, he pondered.

Julia smiled assuringly. "It'll be over in a few seconds," she told him.
"Haven't you been taking the sleeping pills I gave you?"

"No, I stopped taking them." That elicited another frown, and he wanted to take
it back. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Julia. I appreciate everything that
you and Barnabas and Quentin have done for me. I never knew what it was like
until now to have friends-- real friends. It's just that... well, the pills
were giving me weird dreams."

She motioned for him to sit, then rolled up his sleeve to expose his arm. "I
doubt the pills are to blame. You know, Chris, dreams can tell us a lot about a
person's subconscious thoughts, particularly fears or doubts," she said while
wiping his arm. "Why don't you give me the details, beginning with the first
dream you had?"

"No, no, no, I don't want to talk about them," he answered nervously, the smell
of alcohol making him swoon. "I just want them to stop." He felt her tie the
tourniquet, finishing it off with a snap.

"They're obviously having a deleterious effect on you."

"What?"

"They bother you."

"Well... yeah. But 'bother' is putting it mildly."

"Chris, you MUST trust *me* to decide what's significant and what isn't."

"Okay. In last night's dream I was in my bed, though I'm usually outside in the
others, but what happens is always the same. I can't see the floor or the rug,
or I don't see the ground. The walls and the furniture, or the trees, aren't
there, and there's just an awful green for as far as I can see. And in a corner
of my eye I see part of it start to move, and soon the whole thing is
undulating, like a huge rolling carpet. That's when I realize that it's a sea
of snakes, and if there's one thing I hate, it's a snake!"

~*~

"No, it cannot be. Vous plaisentez!"

"I would never joke about that. I AM your father."

"You speak French."

He grinned broadly beneath the silver moustache. "I've been to Paris a few
times. Rio, Shanghai, even Zanzibar. I've been all over the world, but I always
carried your photo with me. Of course, it was your baby picture because that's
all I had, but..."

His daughter was stirring inside, which spurred the dangerous woman on. "You
traveled for business or pleasure?"

"Business. I start companies, and when they become a success I sell them for a
profit. Which is pretty much all the time," he boasted.

"You are rich?"

His eyes narrowed into slits. "I know what people said about me-- that I
married your mother for her money, but I made it on my own, and without a penny
of the precious Collins fortune that your mother kept from me. I'm told I have
a special talent for knowing what people want, but the truth is that everything
I try turns out well."

Danielle was looking around distractedly. He asked her, "Do you believe in
luck?"

"I believe we make our own luck. And you are boring me."

"But the money-- having money isn't all that fulfilling. Family is what's
important," he declared proudly.

"I can smell your desperation, monsieur. Your luck has run out, no?"

"Well, I admit that things haven't been going as well lately..."

"You're not dying, are you?" She hoped he wasn't. That would be cheating.

"No, I- I want to get to know you. Look, I made some mistakes, but I've had to
live with what I did all these years. And we have a lot of catching up to do,
you and I." Paul flashed a hopeful grin. Black air was gathering in the back of
Danielle's throat as she reached for her purse, but he was blissfully unaware
of it, or that he faced his own extinction. It was the way she was looking at
him that made his smile fade, and he barely got out the words, "What is it?"
before a flash of steel was followed by a crimson flood beneath his chin.

And in the depths of her mind, Danielle could hear Carolyn screaming.

~*~

The intruder crept across the foyer, careful to not make a noise that might
alarm the occupants he spied entering the basement while he watched from
outside. Nathan decided on a cursory check of the main floor before heading
upstairs and noticed the unguarded tape recorder on a table. He'd seen enough
20th century technology to operate the Rewind feature, and when the reels
stopped moving he pushed Play and began to listen.

~*~

Blood drenched the couch, the rug, the floor as Danielle reveled in the
forgotten smart of her assault on Quentin Collins. She searched for a souvenir
but found no rings and the watch snatched off his wrist wasn't even gold, and
if not for patting his shirt pocket she would've missed the red-stained pendant
around his neck. After tugging until it broke from the chain, she wiped it
clean before skulking off with the twining snake-figured amulet.


TO BE CONTINUED