Shadows on the Wall Chapter Sixty-Five

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...