Chapter 11

They made their way back to the estate with Tracy assuming their destination was the cottage. Along the way, Alex was reunited with a very relieved Claire. The two of them hung back to give Quentin and Tracy some privacy. Quentin held her close. "I'm sorry, Trace. I'm sorry for everything that's happened." Her loving gaze informed him that the apology was unnecessary. "I've got to go back, Tracy," he informed her, his voice full of fear and regret.

"Oh, Quentin, please … please don't go back in that house.

He gazed at her, never loving her more than he had in that moment. He considered his words very carefully before he attempted to explain. "Tracy, try to understand the way I feel. I have such a tenuous hold on myself that …"

"But you're all right now," Tracy interrupted. "You're all right."

"But I don't know how long I'll stay this way. There's only one way to end it. We've got to go back in there and face it down."

Tracy nodded reluctantly but in full agreement. "What about Carlotta?"

"I don't think we'll find her," Alex answered. Tracy shivered as she looked up and saw the moonlit silhouette of Collinwood looming menacingly over them.

The quartet was observed from the tower room as they trudged determinedly through the onyx night toward Collinwood. Cold fury mixed with fear coursed through Carlotta's veins. Things were not going well at all. Quentin, CHARLES, was not supposed to be fighting his destiny. Rather, he'd been expected to embrace it. The meddling trio should have been dispatched by now, and order would have reigned in Collinwood, order and Angelique. This would simply not do.

Alex reached out to open the front door, but Quentin placed a restraining hand over his. Alex glanced up, puzzled. "Alex, there's something in there we've got to find."

"What are you talking about?" Alex wanted to know.

Quentin paused, obviously struggling to recall something. "In a dream I had, Gabriel threw Charles into a dark room. I remember when he hit the floor, he fell over something wooden. Before I could see what it was, Gabriel bolted the door."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"No," he paused and then corrected himself. "Only a sound and I can't even describe it, but I know I've heard it before."

Well, where do we start?"

Quentin's expression took on a faraway aspect, "The room had a heavy door … It was much heavier than anything I've seen in the house."

"You've been everywhere?"

Quentin nodded. "Everywhere except the cellar," Tracy offered reluctantly. The thought of venturing into to the bowels beneath Collinwood chilled her. Quentin's eyes lit up. The room Charles had been imprisoned in had a dungeon-like quality. Quentin led the way into the house and reached for the light switch. The darkness was not dispelled.

"Perfect, "Alex spat, "no lights."

Tracy pointed, almost invisible in the near darkness. "There are candles in there," she announced, pointing to a storage closet. Each one of them grabbed candelabra, and Alex produced some matches and applied flame to each candle. That taken care of, they made their way toward the cellar door. Quentin paused at the landing of the tower room stairs. "I have the terrible feeling that if I relax my will for just a second, it'll be all over…"

"We'll go up there, Quentin. You and Tracy stay as far away from that tower room as possible." Claire's hand exerted pressure on Alex's, and she nodded vigorously in firm assent. Quentin nodded, and the Jenkins ascended the stairs. Quentin watched them for a moment and then led Tracy to the basement.

The dank, fetid air assaulted their nostrils, making it hard to breathe. Tracy's face screwed up in disgust as she batted away a spider's web and rubbed the residue of it off her hands. Now and then they could hear the scurrying of fleeing creatures. Tracy nearly bumped into Quentin when he stopped abruptly, "What?"

"Something familiar about all this …" Quentin opened a storage room door and peered into its depths.

Tracy wandered away and tried another door. She entered and looked around. "There's nothing in here." Her mouth puckered into a confused and frightened "O" shape; a gust of wind materialized suddenly, from nowhere. The foul, death reeking mass of air blew the door shut. She screamed and launched herself toward the exit, desperately trying to work the uncooperative knob. Miraculously, a few of her candles remained lit.

Quentin called out to her from the other side of the door, "Tracy!"

"Quentin!"

"Yes, I'm here. Are you OK?"

"Yes," she answered the tone of her voice uncertain.

"The damn thing's stuck. Push on the inside!"

Tracy exerted all of the force she could muster against the door; it adamantly refused to budge.

"Come on Trace, harder!"

"I'm pushing …" she protested, unable to finish the sentence. Inexplicably, a cloud of mist gathered around her. Tracy would not have thought it possible, but the air actually became fouler. The room had been in near darkness, with only a couple of candles still lit. The level of light had brightened considerably from something behind her. She turned and opened her mouth to emit a piercing, blood-curdling scream.

Angelique, semi-transparent, was floating toward her. Her twin moon eyes seethed with fiery hatred as she advanced relentlessly toward Tracy. Her mouth formed a cruel smile as she willed the mist to gather and concentrate around Tracy's head and torso. Breathing became difficult as the oppressive fog increased, cutting off her air. Angelique closed the gap in a leisurely pace; she was relishing her victim's terror and suffering and wished to prolong it. Gradually, she relaxed her will and her form began to melt into mist and joined the mass that was already suffocating Tracy.

From the other side of the door, Quentin called out frantically, "For God's sake, Tracy!" What is it, Tracy? Answer me!" Quentin felt as if his heart stopped when Tracy's screams were abruptly muted. He gripped the knob and pulled with all of his might. The muscles and sinews in his shoulder and arms felt as if they were about to tear apart, but the door remained steadfastly closed.

He prepared to attempt it again when he was interrupted by Claire. "Where's Tracy?"

"She's in there! We've got to get her out!" Quentin and Alex joined forces and managed to heave the door open. Their intrusion broke Angelique's concentration and her spell. They found Tracy inert on the floor surrounded by a quickly dissipating mist. "Oh my God," Claire screamed, "it was the same thing!"

For a moment Quentin feared the worst, but she stirred as the last of the fog vanished. He knelt and held her close. He winced when he saw the haunted, glazed look in her eyes. "You're going to be all right," he assured her soothingly. Gradually, her eyes focused and her muscles relaxed. She reached out to pull Quentin in closer.

"It was so horrible! She was here! She was here!" Quentin prayed she wouldn't descend into hysteria. He felt a surge of annoyance bubble up in the bowels of his soul, a reminder that Charles Collins was still there, a part of him. He forced his mind to concentrate on Tracy, on her fear, her hurt, and the blackness was dispelled, replaced by love and concern. Finally, Tracy favored him with a weak but radiant smile and struggled to her feet.

Quentin helped her up, and surveyed the room. There was something familiar about it. That scratchy, grating sound from his dream was haunting him again. For some reason, Gerard's visage also loomed into view of his mind's eye. The others eyed him quizzically as he snatched up his candelabra and began to inspect the room. It was just an empty room, four walls of naked brick. There was nothing special about it. Then the connection exploded into his consciousness. Bricks! When he'd first seen Gerard he was laying bricks! "That's it! That's it, the sound of bricks being laid!" He pointed to the far wall. "Charles Collins is in there!"

Quentin and Alex raced to find tools and frantically began to tear the wall apart. It should have been exhausting work, but they were too pumped up with adrenaline to care. Their labors revealed an iron door that had been concealed behind the masonry. The bolt was desiccated with rust and easily snapped off. The two men forced the groaning, protesting hinges open and burst inside. The flickering illumination of their candles revealed a skeleton clad in rotting rags and … a plain pine box fit for no one but a pauper. There was no doubt in their minds who had been interred in it. "So this is why Laura was laughing at the funeral. They were burying an empty coffin." Quentin commented sadly. The memories of Charles Collins' last hours on earth were fighting their way back to his consciousness. He'd experienced every second of the panic and despair Charles had felt when he'd been consigned to this darkness, to suffocate slowly, buried alive. Again, he summoned a herculean effort to quell those memories. They were not productive now and might allow Charles to supplant his will.

"We have to bury them. It's the only way they'll have peace." Alex advised. Quentin nodded.

"I saw a trunk that looked empty in the hall. It could serve as a coffin for Charles," Claire suggested. The men nodded and the four of them set about the grisly task of laying the bodies to rest. While Claire and Alex fetched the trunk, Tracy found some gardening gloves and collected the bones, laying them as respectfully and reverently as possible into the trunk. Quentin did not offer relieve her of the task. There was an unspoken agreement; he would not go near the bones of his ancestor.

Quentin and Alex each took one end of Angelique's coffin, while Tracy and Claire took hold of the trunk. They transported their burdens out to the garage and placed them onto the bed of a pickup truck that had been used by Loomis, the former caretaker. They piled shovels on as well and made their way to the old cemetery. Quentin and Alex labored in silence, digging two graves. The coffin and the trunk were buried side by side. After the last clod of dirt was patted into place, Quentin cleared his throat. "Should we say something, a prayer or eulogy?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. A battle raged in each of them, the forces of pity and forgiveness versus the resentment and rage they felt toward their tormented oppressors. Finally, it was Tracy who spoke up, "We hope to bury the pain and torment we've all experienced here at Collinwood. We pray that you will find peace and rest and that we may be free to live and love away from the darkness and terror that has been inflicted upon us." Her voice trailed off; no one else could think of anything else. They settled for a chorus of amen and returned to Collinwood.

"Well, that's it. Let's get our stuff and get out of here," Tracy pleaded.

"It's not that easy," Quentin told her gently. Her face fell. "I still feel Charles tugging for dominion over my soul."

"But if we leave …"

"He'll always be fighting the temptation to come back," Claire surmised.

"And I'll be fighting the urge to do away with you." Tracy's eyes widened in horror.

"We have to exorcise their spirits, send them to the realm of the dead," Alex announced.

"How do we do that?" Tracy wanted to know.

"A séance," Claire and Alex prescribed in unison.

"I had hoped that piling dirt on the corpses would be the end of it," Tracy lamented with a pout that Quentin would have found adorable if not for Charles' influence. As it was he had to resist the temptation to berate her and command her to cease her sniveling and whining. He bit his tongue and the urge passed.

They communed around a table in the gallery, placing their hands on the table, fingers touching, forming a circle of fellowship. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows onto each of them. "I'm not sure what to do," Quentin stated, uncertainly.

"Just do as we told you. If Angelique appears to anyone, it'll be you," Alex advised.

Their faces were all scrunched in concentration. Quentin cleared his throat, "Is there anyone who wishes to speak to us, who has anything to say to us? We are here to listen to you. The psychic door is open for you to enter." His summons went unanswered. "We want to help whoever is in this house. That is all. We know you are troubled … Let us try to help you." Quentin shuddered visibly, his eyes widening.

Alex whispered, "Is she here?"

Quentin nodded. "I know you're here, Angelique. I know you're with us. Now you must listen. You must leave us alone. We know that you were not a witch, that your death was unjust. We have found your bodies, yours and Charles. We have buried them in holy ground."

The candlelight was reflected back faintly by an amorphous shape. At first, he was unable to discern what it was. Gradually, it became obvious that a white mist was gathering in their midst and was concentrating to form the outline of Angelique's features. "Come with me." It was both a plea and a command.

The others were puzzled and wondered what Quentin was seeing and hearing. Alex queried, "What is it?"

Quentin did not dare to answer. Contact had been made, and he was not about to risk breaking the connection. "I am not Charles Collins. You do not love me. Let go of me. Your spirit is free to leave this house, never to return here, where you have had such unhappiness. You and Charles must go …" Angelique's image was starting to diminish, becoming faint and indistinct again. Quentin continued his tone soothing, "Join each other in a world where there is no death or hatred. Go with my love. Go forever. Go. Go. Go." The mist was no longer recognizable; it had become merely a faint blob. It continued to dissipate until only the faintest wisps were still discernible.

"NO! You must not send her away!" All eyes were diverted to the balcony above. Carlotta glared down at them with insane fury in her eyes. "I will not let you!" Quentin gasped, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. He crumpled to the floor in an inert heap.

Tracy screamed, "Quentin!" They all leapt from their chairs and knelt down beside him.

"GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE! Take him with you if you must, but GET OUT!" Veins visibly bulged on her scarlet forehead.

Alex got to his feet. "Let go of her, Carlotta. You have no right to hold her back!"

"No! NO!"

"You must let her go!"

Carlotta shot him a final defiant glare and fled from the balcony.

Alex left the women to tend to Quentin and bolted out of the room after Carlotta. He knew with absolute certainty where she was headed and bounded up the stairs to the tower room. It was empty, but the door to the parapet was wide open. He fought the shortness of breath and took the stairs to the roof three at a time and emerged to find Carlotta cornered by the low wall that separated the roof from the long drop below. She regarded him with cold fury, contempt, and fear. "Stay away from me! Don't touch me!"

"We don't want to hurt you, Carlotta."

Carlotta glanced over the side. "She needs me." When she turned her attention back to the ground below, she spied the glowing figure of Angelique, arms outstretched, beckoning to her. Alex advanced slowly, determined to help her. Carlotta did not hesitate. In one fluidly deft movement, she leapt up and over the low rim and plummeted silently toward the open arms of the woman she loved.

Quentin came to the second Carlotta hit the ground. The moment his eyes opened, Tracy gathered him in her arms, holding him close. "It's over, Tracy. It's over!" His mind and soul finally felt free of the dark influence of Charles Collins.

The next few days were a blur of tedious questions and red tape. Quentin's wounded cheek had been tended to, and the authorities were informed of the deaths. They gave a sanitized version of the events to Sheriff Patterson. They explained that Gerard had been obsessed with Tracy and had attempted to kidnap her. Quentin and Alex had pursued him and had killed him in self-defense. Carlotta, distraught over the actions and death of her nephew had committed suicide. Patterson did not protest, but they had the impression he was skeptical. He asked a few questions but did not make any serious effort to poke holes in their account of the events. He just seemed relieved when Quentin asked to be directed to a realtor.

Alex had almost finished packing their belongings into their nearly brand-new car. The vehicle had belonged to Elizabeth Stoddard's daughter, Carolyn. Quentin had had to twist his arm, but he finally convinced Alex to buy it for a dollar. The Jenkins' automobile had been totaled, and Quentin felt responsible for it and many other things. Alex was finally persuaded to accept it as a replacement for the one he'd lost.

Claire was talking to Tracy when Quentin pulled into the driveway. He emerged beaming. "OK, everything's taken care of. As of this very moment, all this grandeur's for sale!"

"Don't look so sad, Quentin. Think of all the money you'll have, "Claire teased.

"I'm not going to count on it," Quentin retorted, glumly.

Alex emerged from the cottage with the last few odds and ends. "OK, the reservations at the Cape are all set. I told them we'd be there at seven."

"Come on, Alex, it's going to take more than three hours," Quentin chided.

"Not with me leading the way, buddy."

Tracy broke in, "You're right, not with you leading us, I'll tell you that. I don't need any more excitement. We'll meet you there."

Quentin was heading for his car when Alex batted him lightly on the back. "Hey, how many stitches?"

"Six."

"Will there be a scar?"

"The doctor said I'd have waited any longer there would've been."

"You know, I never told you how worried I really was."

"You didn't have to."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I was afraid the exorcism wouldn't work."

"Why?"

"Because I had this funny feeling it was really you who was keeping her spirit alive."

Quentin laughed, "Well, I'm glad you were wrong. Have the lobsters ready!" Alex grinned and nodded in return before they both got into their cars. Alex pulled out first, with Quentin following close behind. When they came to the fork in the road, Alex went left, toward Collinsport and eventually Cape Cod. Quentin abruptly turned right onto the path leading back to Collinwood.

"What are you doing?" Tracy asked uneasily.

"I have to pick up my canvases."

Tracy fought hard to quell her uneasiness and exasperation. She wondered how he'd managed to forget to retrieve his paintings.

"Hey, come on Trace, it'll only take a minute."

Tracy bit her lip as they drove in silence. A measure of relief washed over her when she remembered that she'd seen the paintings in the bedroom, he'd have no need to go to the tower. In an effort to dispel her remaining nervousness, she decided to break the silence. "It'll be nice at the Cape."

"Yeah, I'll be happy to get out of this place," Quentin agreed. "Won't you?"

Tracy nodded curtly, "Don't be too long in there, all right?"

Quentin pulled up under the portico and nodded, "It'll just take a minute."

"OK," she replied quietly.

Quentin smiled as he slammed the door shut and fumbled for the key to the front door. The house was deathly silent. Although it was still brightly lit, the late afternoon sun was descending and had begun to cast shadows that heralded the coming of night. He felt his stomach stir queasily, and the hairs on his neck prickled, standing upright. Spurred on by the bout of nerves, he dashed inside and made his way through the gallery and into the master bedroom. Snatching up the canvases, he strode purposefully back through the gallery, past the watchful gaze of the portrait of Angelique. He stopped abruptly in the corridor. A faint creaking broke the deathly silence. The sound emanated from a door opening at the end of the hall. Something emerged; a figure stood in the shadow of the open threshold.

Tracy bit her nails while she waited. Anxiety began to weigh down upon her again. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing to worry about. The ghost of Angelique had been exorcised, and her husband was not Charles Collins. She exited the car and looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Quentin in one of the windows. There was no sign of life. Frustrated, she turned back to the car and reached in to tap the horn a few times. When Quentin did not answer the summons, she decided to go inside after him.

The total silence was eerily oppressive. Carlotta could no longer be heard tending to her chores. The grandfather clock had stopped ticking, suggesting that time itself had been suspended. Even more disturbing, she could not hear Quentin's heavy tread anywhere in the house. "Quentin!" His name echoed throughout Collinwood's many rooms. He did not answer. "Quentin!" Again, she was answered only with mocking silence. Exasperated, and trying to dismiss the panic that was germinating inside her, she strode to the gallery. "Quentin, what's taking you so long?" Puzzlement formed on her face as she looked down on the canvases that sat near the doorway to the bedroom. She peered in, no sign of Quentin. She turned and entered the gallery

A dark form sat in the chair by the window. "What are you doing?" she remonstrated. "Quentin, will you come on, I've been waiting for you." There was no answer. "Now why were you just sitting there when you knew …?" The figure rose, eclipsing the sunlight, bathing in shadows. "Quentin, what's the matter?" He started to cross the gap between them. His tread was uneven and irregular. "Quentin? Why are you limping? What happened?" His face became visible once he left the direct path of sunlight. A jagged scar marred his handsome features. "Your face, what did you do to it?"

She heard something behind her. It was the rustling of fine fabrics and the light, feline tread of Angelique entering from the master bedroom. Now solidly flesh and blood, she regarded Tracy with a cold smile of mocking triumph, blocking any chance of an exit. "Oh, no," she whimpered backing up against the wall. "Oh God, no!" she screamed as Charles advance relentlessly upon her. "No, no, no, no!" She continued to scream, as his glaring, hate filled visage loomed ever closer. Angelique's insidious, tinkling laughter filled the room. Despair paralyzed her; she did not struggle as he clamped his viselike hands around her throat, constricting her breath.

UPI Dateline 3 July, Collinsport Maine

Holiday weekend casualties … popular husband and wife novelist team Claire and Alex Jenkins, died today in an automobile accident on the Maine Turnpike. A witness, Leo Humphrey, told the state police that, before the crash, the car suddenly filled with thick, white smoke. Their best-known novel THE GHOST AT CORINTH BEND is presently being made into a major motion picture. The Jenkins started…