Shadows on the Wall Chapter 75 Act One

Chapter 75: How to Make Amends

by Nicky

Voiceover by Thayer David: “Collinwood, in the year 1968, besieged by a force

from the dawn of time, something so darkly malevolent, something so

reprehensible, that it corrupts everything it touches.  And it is a force

wielded with expert efficiency by one young woman in the great house of

Collinwood ...  a woman who may hold the key to the destruction of everyone she

loves.”

ACT I

1

 Her eyes glittered like polished black stones, and her lips were drawn back in

a leering, toothy smile.  “I am the Queen,” she announced grandly, and waved

her hand.  As if in answer to a silent summons, the ebony sky over her head was

split by several waves of crimson streaks, as if the stars were hurling

themselves at her, shredding the sky, burning up before her.  Globes of fiery

beauty.  All for her. 

In her black garden.  

The woman that had been Victoria Winters was the Queen, and she was attended,

as a queen should be. 

A shifting emerald carpet of twisting, hissing serpents writhed around her

ankles and rubbed smooth and silky over her feet and up around her calves.

Their ministrations were strangely soothing. 

A hand fell on her shoulder.  She stiffened at first; who would dare to touch

her now?  Here?  In her own palace, her own world? 

The hand was white and heavy, and the nails were black.  She shrugged, a tiny

token gesture of disgust, and the hand fell away. 

“You are our Queen,” a voice said.  She felt a tiny sliver of fear when she

heard it — buzzing, insectile, as inhuman as if a roach had learned to speak in

human words — but quickly shook the fear away.  This was her place, dammit, the

place where didn’t have to feel fear.  Or anything else, if she didn’t want to.

“We worship you.” It hesitated.  “But —”

“I am powerful,” Vicki said.  “You will never touch me again.”

“And where,” that voice said, and it was sly suddenly, and she didn’t like it,

“where do you suppose that power comes from?”

“Leave this place,” Vicki said.  The snakes around her hissed reprovingly.

“Leave me alone.  I don’t need you.  I don’t need anyone.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Of course I do.”

The carpet of serpents parted, and a tiny form rose up from beneath them, and

stared up at Vicki with wide brown eyes. 

Vicki felt that nasty quaver of fear again, and tried to shrug it off.  “Amy?”

she said.  “Amy, what are you doing here?”

 

“I belong here,” Amy said.  “This is my place too.”

Vicki’s head throbbed, and she brushed a trembling hand against her forehead.

“No,” she said, and began to shiver, “no, that’s not — I mean, that isn’t —”

The little girl held out her arms imploringly, and Vicki saw a tiny mark on her

wrist.  Her hand lashed out before she could stop it and seized Amy’s arm, then

pulled her close.  The girl remained eerily silent, and she didn’t flinch.

“What is this?” Vicki hissed, but she knew already.  She recognized the mark,

like a tattoo, because she had seen it a few weeks ago on David.  I erased it,

Vicki thought dazedly, I used my powers to erase it, because he wasn’t himself,

he was being ...  he was being controlled ... 

Amy gently removed her arm from Vicki’s numb fingers, and with a dainty gesture

stepped back and looked up at her governess.  “The time is coming,” Amy said.

“You’ll know it soon.  The time of the Leviathan people is at hand.”

According to Eliot, they are a race that ruled the earth long before our kind

ever made an appearance.  They were evil, the purest of evil apparently, and

incredibly powerful.  But at some point, mankind made a stand against them, and

they were banished, although no one knows to where. 

Quentin’s voice (dear and sweet, no, not, not sweet, just a, just a VOICE —) in

her ears, and she pressed her hands against them but it didn’t help, didn’t

make his voice go away. 

“The Leviathans,” she whimpered, and looked behind her, but whoever — whatever

— had stood there was gone now. 

Amy took her hand.  It was tiny and cold, like the belly of a fish.  “They’re

coming,” she said, and her voice was chiming and sweet, and her smile was

innocent.  “They’ll be here soon.”

Vicki gasped and sat up.  Her head throbbed for a miserable moment, and she

reached out and groped at her hair, her beautiful fall of thick auburn hair

that had, until recently, remained unmarred.  Now, she realized, it was

streaked with a shock of white that seemed to grow daily. 

Not daily, she thought grimly; every time I use my powers. 

She glanced around her, and realized that she was sitting in a chair in the

drawing room at Collinwood.  The double doors were closed, and a fire crackled

in the fireplace.  How did I get here?  she wondered; I don’t remember anything

after —

A scream rose on her lips, and then died away as she pressed her hands against

her mouth to squelch it, force it away, force it not to exist. 

Quentin Collins, the man she loved more than anyone else on earth, was sprawled

out on the hideous green couch before her.  His eyes stared blankly ahead of

him, and they were dim and dazed and glassy, like marbles; his mouth gaped

open, and a runner of saliva ran in a silver stream down his chin.  The slight

rising and falling of his chest was the only indication that he still lived. 

“Oh Quentin,” Vicki murmured, and then she remembered.  He knows, she thought

with a cold shock of horror, he knows about me, he saw — he saw —

He didn’t see anything, a cold, small voice said within her mind.  How could

he?  He doesn’t remember anything either, because you wiped it all away.  You

know.  With those powers you’re so fond of. 

She remembered now, oh yes she did.  The emptiness inside him.  Alive ...  but

not alive.  Dead ...  but not dead.  Something horribly in-between. 

I might as well have killed him, she thought dimly.  Oh my god, oh my dear

sweet god —

She sat up.  “I can make it better,” she said aloud, not caring that the room

was empty (more or less, she thought, and sobbed), “I can make it right,

there’s still time, I can fix it and no one has to know —” She was across the

room in a literal blink of an eye, and found herself kneeling beside him.  But

he didn’t move, or give any sign of recognition that there was someone else in

the room with him, or that he was even in a room at all. 

The power rose inside her like an obedient serpent, a familiar feeling, dark

and terrible and seductive and consuming, and she felt it spread inside her

like a stain, and she said, “Quentin Collins —” and her voice rumbled low and

throaty with power —

“It won’t help him.”

The power dissipated, and Vicki collapsed into a heap next to the couch as an

exhausted sigh left her lips.  She managed to lift her head, and watched the

approaching figure kneel beside her, and gently take her hand.  And it was

cold, dear lord, so cold. 

“You can’t do anything for him,” Amy Jennings said.  “He’s gone.  Gone for

good, see.  And you did that.  That thing.  See?” She blinked.  Horror had

strangled Vicki’s words in her throat, and she could only watch.  Amy nodded

sympathetically.  “I know.  But this is the way it has to be.  Like I told

David, when David still remembered.” The child’s eyes grew hard and flinty.

“You did that too.”

“I had to,” Vicki said throatily.  “I had to because — b-because —”

“Doesn’t matter,” Amy said with a strangely adult gesture of dismissal.  “Now

is all that matters.  What we have to do.  Now.  Do you want him back?”

“Yes,” Vicki wheezed.  “God.”

“There is no god here,” Amy said, and grinned.  “There is only you ...  and

me.” She cocked her head to the darkness pressing eagerly against the window

behind them.  “And ...  them.”

“I won’t play this game.”

“You don’t have any choice.” Her voice, sweet and melodic.  Her eyes glinting,

flashing, devil’s eyes, snake’s eyes —

You are strong now, Victoria Winters.  No one can tell you what to do. 

“Yes,” Vicki hissed, and felt the power inside her expand of its own accord.

For a second Amy flinched back, and a shadow, a brief spasm of fear, crossed

over her face.  “I do what I want to do.  Tell them that.  Your masters.” She

stood up, and at her full height she towered above the girl.  Black skeins of

electricity began to crackle between Vicki’s fingers; a spark flew from her

hands and scorched Amy’s cheek, and the girl scuttled backwards on her hands

and knees like a crab, keening, a high desolate wail.  “I’ll find a way to save

him myself,” Vicki said, and her voice was deep and throaty with power and

confidence.  I know what I’m doing, she thought, I am absolutely in control.

“Now get out of here,” Vicki said, and more black fire flew from her hands.

Screaming, Amy clambered to her feet and fled, and slammed the drawing room

doors behind her. 

Satisfied, Vicki brushed her hands against her skirts, and turned back to

Quentin.  She stroked her chin thoughtfully as she stared into his vacant blue

eyes.  “I’ll make it right,” she said.  “I’ll make it better.  I promise you

that, my love.  I’ll make everything okay.”

2

 

“Get out of here, Sky,” Angelique hissed.  She had never felt more vulnerable

in her life, even after her most recent brush with death at the hands of two of

the most sadistic (and now, she thought with a momentary inner smile of

triumph, regrettably immolated), most vicious vampires she’d ever encountered.

The nightgown she wore was blue and filmy, and she crossed her arms over her

breasts before she realized she had.  “Go on, leave!”

The man she had once imagined she loved stood before her, and his head was

bowed slightly, and a lock of his chestnut hair fell across one eye in a tiny

curl.  She remembered running her fingers through his hair on their wedding

night (how long ago that now seemed, how foolish), tugging it in the heat of

passion, groaning in his ear, the night she had felt like a woman again, a real

woman, for the first time in centuries.  His hands were clasped before him

almost reverently, and she felt a spark of hatred flare within her, ignited by

the betrayal she had received at those hands. 

He’s just like you, Angelique, a mocking voice whispered in her ear.  Just the

same.  How typically female; you overlook your own deception, but you’re

furious at his.  It whispered to her in the snide tones of Nicholas Blair, but

it was her own voice.  Dammit. 

“I can’t leave, Angelique,” Sky said, and was that tenderness in his voice?

She’d be damned if — “I came all this way to find you.”

Her face hardened.  “Did your friend Nicholas Blair tell you about me?  Is that

it?  So you think you know the awful truth?” She drew herself up fiercely.

“Well I know a few things about you too, Sky.  It’s frightening enough to know

that you know Nicholas Blair — and even more frightening that he should come to

you for a favor.  Evil?  Depraved?  Isn’t that what he said you were?”

 

Sky’s hands were clenched into fists, and Angelique drew back, suddenly a

little frightened.  If Sky were as powerful as Nicholas had hinted — or perhaps

even more powerful — then he could destroy her right now, without a thought or

without even any effort expended.  “Angelique,” Sky said through gritted teeth,

“you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I understand all too well,” she said.  She was nearly screaming

now; anger and fear made her voice shrill.  If only I had asked Professor

Stokes for some anti-witchcraft charms, she thought, and could only appreciate

the grim irony in that suggestion.  “You’re a warlock.  A powerful, evil

warlock.  What did Nicholas want from you, Sky?  What has he done for you in

the past?  And how much will it cost you?”

“You’re right,” Sky said, and suddenly he sounded weak and defeated.  He

collapsed in a heap beside the bed, and dropped his head and then covered it

with his arms.  He began to rock back and forth, and she could only stare at

him in shock.  Crying?  Was Schuylar Rumson, one of the most powerful business

magnates in the Western hemisphere — Sky Rumson, the man who, laughing, had

swung her around in his powerful arms so that she could place the star on the

top of the highest tree in the forest he had cut down himself only a few weeks

ago — could Sky Rumson be crying?  Now?  “You’re right,” he said again.  “I

never wanted you to find out.  I was so afraid that you would hate me, run away

from me ...  just like you did.  And I can’t blame you.  I came to find you so

I could try to explain.  I wanted to make you see that I’ve changed.  Your love

changed me, Angelique.” He looked up at her, face streaming.  “Your love made

me a real man again.”

“What are you talking about?” Suspicious hissed within her like a nest of

snakes. 

“I was a warlock.  I have been for — god, a hundred years.  I was born in

England in 1855, and came to America with my mother when she remarried just

after the Civil War.  My stepfather lived on a plantation in Virginia.  His

housekeeper was a woman named Zimba, an old woman he had brought back

with him from the West Indies.  She was an Obeah woman, like a priestess, and

she taught me all about dark magic.  I’ve learned a lot since then.  About

immortality.  About power.  Oh, I wanted power more than anything in the world.

I sought it out.   

"I’ve been to so many places, places I don’t even want to

think about now.  I’ve done terrible things.  All in the name of power.” He

wiped his face, and stared at his hands.  His voice was feather-light, barely

more than a husky-leaf whisper.  “So much power.  I built my empire with the

witchcraft.  And still, it wasn’t enough.  I would lie in my bed at night and

send out my spirit to the farthest reaches of the cosmos, farther and farther,

away from earth, away from the netherworld, into worlds no one else has ever

visited, ever.  I met demons and spirits and offered them anything they wanted.

So long as they gave me power. 

“Still, not enough.” He sighed, and looked into her face.  “Even before I met

Nicholas, I was reconsidering.  Everything.  I was scaring myself, see.  I had

never felt fear before in all my long life, but suddenly ...” He shivered.

“This wasn’t even a year ago.  I was casting a spell with my coven.  Three

witches and another warlock.  Paltry.  Weak.  But still ...  magic is magic.

And I took it from them.  They offered it to me freely, and I sucked it out of

them and added it to my own.  There was a mirror.  I was going to tap into

their power and use it to open a portal to yet another dimension.  I thought I

could find a demon there who could increase my own powers a hundred-fold.  In

exchange I planned to offer him the world.  This world.  Our world.  All of it.

All dark.  Forever. 

 

“And then I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror.  Mid-incantation.  And I

stopped.  My face was white, like a corpse, like salt.  There were veins

stretching all across it, purple, ugly, like bruises.  Not purple.  Black.

Like the blood that pumped through me was ichor.  And my eyes ...” He wiped

sweat from his forehead.  “They were black too.  Not just black, but empty.

Christ.  I don’t know if I believe in a soul, and I probably haven’t had one

for a long time, but suddenly I was afraid for it.  I was ugly.  Inhuman.  I

realized what I was about to do.  I was going to end the world, and for what?

For power?  The power to do what exactly?  I didn’t know.  Couldn’t answer.  So

I stopped the ceremony and I broke the mirror, and I ran from that place and I

never looked back.  I swore that I would stop using my powers.  For good.  And

for awhile it was hard.  Falling back on old habits.  Teleporting to the

office, rematerializing at home.  Conjuring up fire to light a cigarette.  I

swore them off again and again.  But it never took. 

“Until I met you.”

He gazed at her solemnly.  She couldn’t move.  She was uncertain.  Her body was

heavy, then light, heavy, then light.  She couldn’t take her eyes away from

his. 

“Angelique, you make me human.  I have never felt for anyone the way I feel for

you.  I love you.  I never thought I would know what that meant, but I do.  I

do.  God, Angelique, I’ve been nothing without you.  An animal.  I ...  I

nearly destroyed the house when I found out you had gone.” Shame burned in his

eyes and in the curl of his lips.  “And I knew why.  I knew you must have

overheard Nicholas.  The power came back, and it was strong.  So strong — but

not strong enough.  Because I’m stronger.  But I’m only strong because of you.

Please, Angelique.” He reached out his hand for hers.  It hung in the air,

suspended between them.  “Please,” he said.  “Don’t leave me again.”

She looked at it wordlessly, then up to his face. 

“Sky,” she said. 

And closed her fingers around his. 

“Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered.  He was in her arms; she was in his

arms; his face was pressed against her breasts; his face was hot and wet with

his tears. 

“I don’t know,” she said, over and over, “I don’t know, I don’t know, but I

love you, Sky.  I can’t help it.  And I understand.  I do.”

He looked up at her.  “You do?”

She cradled his face tenderly in her hands.  “Don’t you know?  Didn’t Nicholas

tell you?” He shook his head.  She took a breath and didn’t take her eyes from

his.  “I was a witch, Sky.  For far longer than you’ve been.  Since 1692, maybe

even before.  Maybe a million incarnations, and I’ve always been a witch.” She

grimaced.  “Except for now.  I have no powers.  None.  And I’ve never been

happier.”

He was staring at her in shock.  “Angelique?” he whispered.  “Angelique ...

Collins?”

She recoiled a little at that name.  “You’ve ...  you’ve heard of me?”

“Who hasn’t!” he exclaimed.  “Angelique Collins, the most fearsome, most

diabolical witch this world has ever known!”

“Sky —”

“I had no idea,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her, “none at all!  I never

would’ve connected it.” He stood up; he was pacing now, across the length of

the room, like a tiger, and running his fingers over and over through his

chestnut hair.  Angelique watched, and a sick feeling grew in the pit of her

stomach.  “And I checked!  I can tell if someone uses magic or has any magical

powers; you know, you know how you can sense that?” She nodded slowly.  “But

you didn’t.  None!  Or no more than any other human I’d met.  And that’s just

it.  You were human, just like I wanted, just like I thought I needed —”

“I am human.  Now.” He blinked at her.  “Nicholas,” she said.  “Nicholas made

me human.  About five months ago.  I left this place, and I never wanted to

come back here again.”

“Barnabas Collins!” Sky said, and snapped his fingers.  “You turned Barnabas

Collins into a vampire!”

She shrugged.  “Among many others things I did —”

“Nicholas told me about you once.  He’s not very fond of you.”

“The feeling,” she said, eyes flashing, “is mutual.”

He stopped pacing.  “Is it really true,” he said, his voice a conspiratorial

whisper, hushed with awe, “that you were walled up for two hundred years?”

She stared at him silently, one eyebrow arched. 

“Did you come here to see Barnabas?” There was no jealousy in his voice, she

was relieved to discover, just honest curiosity, and maybe something else —

“Yes,” she said.  “We’ve ...  we’re overcoming our differences.  I came here

for help.  And there’s another woman, a friend of Barnabas’ who’s helping me,

Julia —”

“Julia Hoffman,” Sky said, “yes, I know her.  Well, I’ve heard of her, I mean.”

Angelique stared at him incredulously. 

He sighed.  “Elizabeth Collins Stoddard and I are old friends,” he said, then

amended, “or business partners, really.  Long time ago.  She owns stock in my

magazine.  I can’t believe her name never came up.”

“No reason it should’ve,” Angelique said with a trace of bitterness.  “I was

trying so hard to avoid the subject of Maine at all.  I never wanted to bring

up the Collins family.  I never wanted to see them again.”

“But the Collins family is why I’m here,” Sky said.  “Just because I haven’t

used magic in about a year doesn’t mean I’m not attuned to it.  I can feel when

something dark is rising.  Time was I’d have been drawn to it.  I’d have come

to this place to suck up all the dark juice that I could possibly take.  But

that’s over now.  I can feel it, though.  Something bad is coming here ...  and

I sensed you, Angelique.  I sensed that you had come to this place, and I came

to save you, even if you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“You’re right, Sky,” Angelique said, and climbed out of bed.  Her arms were

still folded across her troubled breast.  Lightning flashed outside and

illuminated her features; her eyes flashed in the silver light.  “Something

terrible is coming, but we don’t know what it is.  Barnabas is a part of it,

maybe other people.  But Sky —” She grasped at his arms, looked into his face,

searched it with those same intoxicating blue eyes.  “We may have no other

choice.  Whatever is coming, whatever this menace is, its power stretches far

beyond me or anything I’m capable of doing now.  If you’re as powerful as you

say, we may need you.”

He looked away, disgust marring for a moment his handsome, carved features.

“Angelique —”

“I mean it,” she said, and took his hands in her own, suddenly icy.  “I mean

it, Sky.  If worse comes to worse, you may have no choice.  None.  You may be

forced to fight Sky, and you may be forced to use your powers ...  or we will

all be lost.”

3

It was sobbing, Julia thought with amazement.  Whatever it was, it was sobbing

away as if its heart was broken, and long, silver tears in streams ran down its

twisted, inhuman features.  Its eyes were flat and yellow now, and a twisted

snout filled with razors jutting from black gums snuffled at the air; its face

was plated with armor that gleamed an opalescent black in the light of the

moon. 

It’s still human, Julia thought.  Somehow, underneath it all, that thing is

still human.  Still Chris Jennings. 

The tinkling music continued to pour from the music box Julia held in one

outstretched hand.  She had regained consciousness a few moments after she

passed out, and Barnabas had handed it to her wordlessly.  When she opened her

eyes, she saw that the monster had scuttled away from her and was curled up in

the corner of the room, making choked baying sounds and rocking.  It was huge,

she realized; even curled up on the floor with its long arms wrapped around its

knees, it was still as tall as Barnabas. 

It was staring at her with its strange eyes, flat yet strangely compelling,

with a sort of wonder that was almost childlike in that deformed face.  As she

watched it shifted again; hair sprouted from between the plates which receded

and disappeared back into the skin; the eyes glowed emerald, and the snout

became a horn that bristled with thousands of tiny teeth.  It blinked once, and

swallowed, and another cascade of tears poured from its eyes.  It held out what

had once been hands, then paws, and now resembled the pincers of a lobster. 

“Oh Chris,” Julia whispered, “what have I done to you?”

“Julia, what do you mean?” Barnabas spoke in a low voice, but his eyes flashed

dangerously. 

“This really is all my fault,” Julia said.  The chiming minuet began again, and

the creature before them uttered a low, heartbreaking moan.  “I’ve been

administering injections to Chris for the past few months, Barnabas.  I thought

they were making an improvement, maybe paving the way for a total cure.  A

release from his curse.” She sniffled; her eyes burned; she would have killed

for a cigarette.  “But I guess it ...  um ...  backfired.  Made him something

even more monstrous than he already was.  Oh god —”

“G-gar -d —”

Julia gasped.  The monster had spoken, or tried to speak.  The horn had become

a vast hole in its head still lined with teeth like butcher knives.  Its eyes

rolled madly in their sockets. 

“He-ep meh — gard — hep meh —” A pointed pink tongue lapped briefly at its

swollen black lips. 

“Oh Christopher,” Julia said, and began to cry. 

“It’s all right, Julia,” Barnabas said, and laid a comforting arm across her

shoulder.  “You didn’t mean for this to happen.  We can fix it.  We can make it

right again, I promise you.”

“I don’t know, Barnabas,” Julia whispered.  “I just don’t —”

The creature before them gave a convulsive moan, and began to thrash in its

corner.  “Chris!” Julia exclaimed, but Barnabas held her back.  Black fur

sprouted all over the creature’s body and just as suddenly receded, and melted

away; the body began to shrink and reform itself, and in only moments Chris

Jennings lay before them, shivering, his naked body beaded with sweat. 

“I’ll get a blanket,” Barnabas said, and left Julia alone with him. 

She knelt at his side, and tried to smile down at him.  He blinked up at her

with dazed eyes that were filled with an unbearable pain.  “Chris,” Julia said,

“Chris, we’re here for you.  I’m here for you now.”

“Julia,” he groaned, and tried to cover his face with his hands.  She stroked

his hair, and then he clung to her, his body rocking with the convulsive sobs

that wracked him. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, “I promise, Chris, it’s gonna be —”

“No,” he groaned, and sat up.  He stared at her with his eyes, glittering with

pain like broken shards of glass.  “I remember, Julia.  I remember it all.”

She recoiled, suddenly stricken with horror, and as more pain passed over his

face, she cursed herself for her clumsiness. 

“It’s never happened before,” he said in a voice like a child, “never, never.

I’ve never remembered — and then Joe was here, but he wasn’t Joe at all, he was

never Joe, and he was saying these things, these crazy things, and the things

he was doing, like he does, the way he was touching me —” Chris swallowed, and

another tear slid like a traitor down his face.  “And then I was different.

Hot, and it hurt, and I was different, I wasn’t me.  It was like I was watching

myself from far away, and I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop, and I hurt him,

Julia, I hurt Not-Joe, but I didn’t just hurt him, I killed him and I ate him,

I ATE him, oh god Julia, oh GOD, and nothing will ever be all right again.”

He collapsed against her again, and she held him and rocked him, and she tried

to smile at Barnabas as he draped a blanket over the young man’s vulnerable

body, but she knew, somewhere deep down inside, that Christopher was right.

Nothing would ever be all right again. 

TO BE CONTINUED ...