3: Peeling the Onion

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id109.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="1: Stolen Memories"><U><B>1:  Stolen Memories</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id110.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: A Complex Puzzle"><U><B>2:  A Complex Puzzle</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>3:  Peeling the Onion</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id112.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Secrets Revealed"><U><B>4:  Secrets Revealed</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id113.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Going Home Again"><U><B>5:  Going Home Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id114.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: ThingintheBox"><U><B>6:  Thing-in-the-Box</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id116.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Challenging the Leviathan"><U><B>7:  Challenging the Leviathan</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id117.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Circling the Wagons"><U><B>8:  Circling the Wagons</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id118.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Jebs Curse"><U><B>9:  Jeb's Curse</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id119.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Spell of Jealousy"><U><B>10:  Spell of Jealousy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id120.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Carrying the Weight"><U><B>11:  Carrying the Weight</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id121.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: A Fiendish New Year"><U><B>12:  A Fiendish New Year</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id122.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Barnabas Crisis"><U><B>13:  Barnabas' Crisis</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id123.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: Barnabas in Parallel Time"><U><B>14:  Barnabas in Parallel Time</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id124.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: Clues to Disaster"><U><B>15:  Clues to Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id125.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: Demons Possession"><U><B>16:  Demon's Possession</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id126.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Breach of Trust"><U><B>17:  Breach of Trust</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id127.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Labyrinth of Emotions"><U><B>18:  Labyrinth of Emotions</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id128.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: The Amanda Dilemma"><U><B>19:  The Amanda Dilemma</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id129.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="20: Ziganas Cure"><U><B>20:  Zigana's Cure</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id130.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="21: The Approaching Storm"><U><B>21:  The Approaching Storm</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id131.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="22: Enigma at Collinwood"><U><B>22:  Enigma at Collinwood</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id132.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="23: Reunion in Hell"><U><B>23:  Reunion in Hell</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id133.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="24: Scattered Through Time"><U><B>24:  Scattered Through Time</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>3:  Peeling the Onion</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id107.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Alternate Destiny"><U><B>Alternate Destiny</B></U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> The drink Grant poured for himself now was purely for pleasure.  He didn't want to get drunk, and he didn't want to forget.  He let the brandy swirl around in his mouth before he swallowed it, thinking that it tasted as sweet as Olivia herself did.  She was getting dressed, and he was waiting for her.  Everything was a production with Olivia.  Her hair had to be just so, makeup carefully applied, another coat of fingernail polish applied, she had to wear just the right color dress.  The only time it was different was when she writhed under him, which he enjoyed very much-although not as much as he enjoyed moving inside her.  He took another sip of the brandy and nearly choked on it, surprised.</div> <div> The door had been flung open, and a young man stormed in, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild.  "Who the hell are you?" Grant demanded.</div> <div> The young man strode toward him, purposefully.  "I'm Chris Jennings.  You're Quentin Collins, and you're going to help me."</div> <div> Grant put his drink down before he spilled it, howling with laughter.  He realized that the loony young man was still coming toward him and wasn't sharing in the hilarity.   "Stop laughing!  It's not funny!" he said angrily.</div> <div>      "Oh, but I think it is!" Grant was barely able to contain himself although it was beginning to occur to him that this Chris Jennings might be dangerous.  He quickly sized him up.  He was broader in the shoulder but shorter.  "I think you've been dipping into your own whiskey barrel, my friend.  You're drunker than I am!"</div> <div>      Jennings shoved his shoulder.  "You owe me, Quentin!"</div> <div>      Grant shoved back immediately and instinctively, gratified to see Jennings lose his balance and fall onto the sofa.  Good, I can take him, he thought.  He's not that tough.  "I'm NOT Quentin Collins!" he yelled.</div> <div>      "Really?" Jennings shouted back.  "Then you tell it to my sister Amy!"</div> <div>      Grant felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.  "That was your sister at the antique store?"  His words were barely a whisper.  He was stunned.</div> <div>      "Yes, it was my sister!" Chris got back up again, his hands curling into fists.</div> <div>      Olivia came out of her room, dressed, and angry.  "What's going on out here?"  She saw Chris and looked stunned.  "What are <I>you</I> doing here?"</div> <div>      "You know him?" Grant asked her, surprised.</div> <div>      "He works for Dr. Hoffman-or so he said."  Olivia gave Chris a very suspicious look.  "You lied.  You don't work for her at all, do you?"</div> <div>      "What of it?" Chris demanded in a challenging way.  "It's not like you've been very honest!"</div> <div>      "Hey!" Grant shoved Chris again before Olivia could say anything.  Chris fell onto the sofa again, and Grant swiftly put his hands on the other man's shoulders to hold him down.  "Don't talk to her like that!  This is between you and me!"</div> <div>      "She's involved, man-if she tells you different, she's lying to you, too!"</div> <div>      Grant looked up at Olivia, wondering.  His eyes narrowed.  That gave the other man enough leverage to break Grant's grip on his shoulders.  Chris jumped up and shoved Grant, knocking him to the sofa this time.</div> <div>      "Enough!" Olivia cried.  "I'm calling Mr. Nakamura!  We'll have the sheriff arrest you!"</div> <div>      "No!" Grant shouted, glaring up at Chris.</div> <div>      "'No!'  What do you mean, `no'?" Olivia demanded, outraged.</div> <div>      "I mean it was this guy's sister that I scared in the antique shop!" Grant answered.</div> <div>      "What?  What has that got to do with anything?"  Olivia sounded confused and angry.  She looked at Chris Jennings with real hatred.</div> <div>      "What did you come here for?" Grant demanded of Chris.  "Why do you think I can do anything to help you?  Is it your sister?"  Maybe the guy only wanted him to reassure the little girl he wasn't the bogeyman.</div> <div>      To his surprise, Chris answered, "I need you to come and talk to Harrison Monroe for me."</div> <div>      "Who?" Quentin asked.</div> <div>      "Harrison Monroe-he's an old artist," Chris explained.</div> <div>      "An old artist!" Olivia interrupted.  "Are you crazy?  Why should Grant go talk to an old artist?"</div> <div>      "Because he won't listen to me, and I need his help!  But he'll listen to-what's he calling himself?  Grant?"</div> <div>      "Why would he listen to me?  Does he know me?" Grant asked, curious in spite of himself now.  Olivia made an annoyed sound with her tongue and crossed her arms, looking furious.  Grant ignored her, looking only at Chris.</div> <div>      "He knows who you really are," Chris said, running his hands through his hair.  He wasn't angry anymore, just distraught.  "He knows you are Quentin Collins."</div> <div>      "Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Grant shouted, jumping up.  He leaned forward so that he stood nose to nose with Chris.  "Quentin, Quentin, Quentin!  I've heard that name enough times over the last couple of days to last me ten lifetimes!  Damn Quentin Collins!  What the hell is so special about <I>that</I> guy other than the fact he's some psychotic ghost that went around scaring little children?" Something in Chris' eyes stopped his tirade.</div> <div>      "Grant, please calm down.  We both know he's crazy," Olivia said, but Grant had already stopped, looking at Chris.  His shoulders slumped in defeat, and his eyes took on a look of sadness beyond despair.  There was something very familiar about that look of sadness, Grant realized.  What?</div> <div>      Inexplicably, he felt drawn to Chris Jennings.  They were about the same age; Grant was sure that with his looks Chris should have had more than his share of girlfriends-except for that look of unrelenting hopelessness.  "Why do you want this old artist to listen to you?" he asked softly.</div> <div>      "Grant!" Olivia exclaimed, angry again.  He put his hand up to quiet her.  "Oh, God, surely you're not going to listen to him!"  Grant turned and glared at her, and she turned abruptly and slammed her door.  She'd be hot later, he thought to himself.  He'd apologize to her, though, soften her up, and on the inside, she'd still be passionately fiery.  Making it up to her was something to look forward to.  Now, however, he turned his attention back to Chris.</div> <div>      "I want him to paint my portrait," Chris answered slowly, looking at Grant.  The depth of pain in those brown eyes moved Grant; he wondered what was the cause of it.</div> <div>      "Maybe it's because I <I>look</I> like this jerk Quentin Collins," Grant said, considering.  "You think if this Harrison Monroe thinks I'm Quentin and I ask him to paint you a portrait, he'll listen?"</div> <div>      "I'm hoping," Chris answered.</div> <div>      "It's that important to you?  Some portrait painted by an old man?"</div> <div>      "Yes, it's that important to me.  I know you don't remember anything so nothing I say will make sense to you."  Chris threw his arms out in appeal.  "Believe me, though-I have no other hope otherwise."</div> <div>      Grant frowned.  "Are you dying?"</div> <div>      "Yes, I am dying-slowly, I'm dying," Chris answered, and Grant had a feeling that although it might not be the literal truth, Chris was not lying to him.  He shook his head.  It made no sense-a portrait!  Did he mean to give it to his little sister so she could remember him?  "Please," Chris appealed to him.  It was almost as if he knew what Grant was thinking.  "That little girl you saw?  Amy?  I'm all she's got left.  Help me, would you?"</div> <div>      Grant could hear the piercing shrieks again.  He saw again the sorrow and grief in Chris' eyes.  He shrugged.  "Sure, I'll help you.  What do you need me to say?"</div> <div>      Chris looked pitifully relieved.  "You don't have to say much of anything.  I'll do most of the talking.  Just come with me-please.  I'll drive us."</div> <div>      Grant shrugged again.  "Okay."  He paused by Olivia's door and knocked.  "Olivia," he called to her softly.  "I'm going out with this guy.  I'll be back soon.  We'll go Christmas shopping, and I'll buy you a beautiful necklace with a jewel on it to reflect the light in your eyes."  He looked at Chris and nodded toward the door.  Discreetly, Chris slipped out.  "Olivia, I'll make it up to you.  I'll get down on my knees and worship you," he promised.  "I'll pay homage to each one of your perfect round breasts, so much like perfectly ripe peaches-"</div> <div>      The door opened.  "He's not still here!" she gasped, looking around.</div> <div>      Grant laughed.  "No, but he's waiting.  I meant what I said."  She gave him a seductive look and then kissed him.  Ah, yes, making up would be sweet.</div> <div>      </div> <div>      Grant and Chris made uncomfortable small talk on the way there.  After ascertaining that Chris didn't know anything about Grant other than the fact that he was Quentin Collins (a theory Grant was certainly never going to buy), Grant asked Chris questions.  "How is your sister?" he asked first.</div> <div>      "She's all right-she's a plucky kid," Chris answered.  "It really scared us when we couldn't get her to talk at first."</div> <div>      Grant was horrified.  "You couldn't?  She was that traumatized?"</div> <div>      "Yeah, but Dr. Hoffman seems to think it's got more to do with that antique shop.  She said Amy shouldn't play there anymore."</div> <div>      "Amy will listen to you?"</div> <div>      Chris cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "She doesn't live with me."</div> <div>      "I thought you said you were all she had!" Grant said accusingly.  He didn't like to be tricked.</div> <div>      "It's true," Chris agreed uncomfortably.  "I didn't say she lived with me, though.  Look, I can't take care of her right now."</div> <div>      Grant understood suddenly.  Chris might be dying of some debilitating disease.  Or maybe he wasn't physically dying.  Maybe he was debilitated some other way.  "Oh, I'm sorry," he said.  "So where does your sister live?"</div> <div>      "At Collinwood."</div> <div>      It clicked.  She was the other child "possessed" and terrorized by Quentin Collins.  "I'll bet you hate this Quentin Collins' guts," he guessed.</div> <div>      Chris looked at him oddly.  "That's kinda accurate, I guess.  It's hard to say without knowing the guy, though."</div> <div>      Grant dropped it.  He found out that Chris was an architect but didn't work steadily.  He lived on the grounds of Collinwood and had taken on some of the caretaking duties there.  Pretty odd thing for an architect to do, Grant thought.  "So you're no Frank Lloyd Wright, huh?"</div> <div>      Chris laughed and shook his head.  "Not now."</div> <div>      "Any girlfriends?  Wife?"</div> <div>      Chris shook his head, his eyes become sad and somber again.  Grant stopped asking questions.  It was depressing both of them.  He wondered how far away Harrison Monroe lived and was gratified to see it was just off the main road leading into Collinsport.  Chris drove them up a narrow private driveway and parked in front of a house, set in the middle of a wooded area.  It was very secluded.  Perfect for a recluse, Grant thought.</div> <div>      Chris explained that Monroe was an eccentric and wanted to be left alone.  He had all kinds of bells and alarms on his front door and had refused to open the door to Chris at all the other day.  "Well, let's see what you can pull off," Grant said, letting Chris take the lead.  </div> <div> Chris rang the bell.  After a moment, a hoarse, rasping voice came through the intercom above their heads telling them both to go away; they weren't wanted here.  Chris rang the bell again and said, "I have someone here you probably want to see! Come on, man!"</div> <div> The raspy voice snarled:  "Go away!  I don't want to see anyone!"</div> <div> Chris rang the bell again a third time.  This time, Grant called, "Little pig, little pig, let me in!"  Chris' mouth dropped open in astonishment.</div> <div> There was a surprised silence on the other end, too.  Then, a quavery voice asked:  "And who are you?  The Big Bad Wolf?"</div> <div> Inspired, Grant said, "No, it is I, Quentin Collins!"  Immediately, the door swung open.  Well, well! Grant thought.  He was surprised and very displeased to see that the name had influence here, too.  Grant entered the foyer, followed by Chris, who still looked astonished.</div> <div> "Follow my directions!" A voice commanded from a loudspeaker placed on the wall.  "Walk forward to the double doors.  Walk through the doors and stop on the Xs on the carpet.  Go no further, understand?"</div> <div> Chris and Grant exchanged puzzled glances and then walked forward.  Chris opened the double doors, and they entered a man's study.  There was a man sitting in the dark at the desk.  They could see the outline of his body in the chair.  They walked toward the desk.  "Stop!  Don't you understand English?"  They halted.  Grant looked down and saw there were several large Xs made of masking tape on the floor.  He'd just stepped over one and backed up quickly.</div> <div> A dim light switched on near the desk and Grant could make out the features of Harrison Monroe.  He had blonde hair and blue eyes.  He couldn't have been more than thirty years old or so.  He turned toward Chris, confused.  At the same time, Monroe barked sharply:  "Liar!  You're not Quentin Collins!  You're young!"</div> <div> "So are you!" Grant had turned fully on Chris.  "You told me this guy was old!"  Chris' eyes were huge with surprise; apparently he hadn't been expecting this, either.</div> <div> Monroe laughed wildly.  "I'm old in years, yes, that's true!  I am!  However, there are ways of remaining young if you're a genius.  I'll tell you something, Quentin-and I call you that because you <I>are</I> Quentin-not only am I a great artist, I'm a genius!"</div> <div> You're a nut, Grant thought.  "Why do you think I'm Quentin?  Because I look like him?"</div> <div> Monroe answered:  "You don't <I>look</I> like him, you fool, you <I>are</I> him!  You might have fooled me for a minute because you weren't swaggering around like you usually do.  Something's happened to you, hasn't it?  You don't remember!"  Monroe began to laugh again; it was all very amusing, apparently.  "I know you're him because you are the greatest example of my genius!"</div> <div> "What are you talking about?" Grant demanded.  He didn't like the way this was going.  This was much more than just asking the man to paint a portrait of Chris.</div> <div> "Like Frankenstein's monster, you turned on me, though, and betrayed me," Monroe spat out angrily.  "You took Amanda Harris from me!"</div> <div> Grant remembered the name-Olivia's great-grandmother!  He remembered the portrait of her-yet, this man couldn't have painted her.  He played dumb.  "Who?  Who is that?"</div> <div> Monroe laughed insanely again.  "You don't even remember her!  You destroyed my life over and over again, and you don't even remember her, damn you!"  The insane laughter went on and on.</div> <div> Unnerved, Grant shouted:  "Stop it!  Stop that!"  Monroe kept braying.  It was more than mirth; there was torment and despair and hatred mixed in.</div> <div> "You finished me for good when you killed the count.  He should have cut your throat after he had you on his desk in New York!  He never should have let you live-he should have given that gift to me!" </div> <div> Grant had a sudden image-this man, laughing at him in a luxuriously furnished room.  He heard his voice from a hidden recess within: <I>Good luck, Quentin--you'll need it. But trust me, I won't wish any for you. </I>He could almost feel hands with steely fingers grabbing his arms, dragging him toward a desk.  "NO!  NO!" He shouted, trying to drive the memory fragment away.  He grabbed the nearest object and threw it at Monroe, screaming, "Shut up!  Shut up!"  Horrified, he watched the vase strike Monroe's head and knock it off his body.  He couldn't stand anymore.  He turned and bolted blindly from the room.</div> <div> Grant ran back into the foyer and out the door.  He ran past Chris' parked car.  He ran back up the narrow private driveway.  When he got to the road, he turned and continued to run.  He ran until he felt a stitch in his side; his lungs were burning because he was gasping for air so hard.  He tried to slow to a stop but tripped and found himself falling.  "God, oh, God!" he cried out.  Something awful had happened to him in that beautifully furnished room.  He wasn't sure he wanted to remember what it was.  He caught an image of a dark visaged man, with black hair, thick black brows, and a black beard-a cruel, brutal man.  "No!"  He didn't want to remember it, and began to tremble violently.  </div> <div> What had Julia said?  Think of something pleasant.  He closed his eyes and thought of Olivia's face.  He thought of undressing her, lying down with her on the bed-but it wasn't Olivia anymore.  There was another face, barely distinguishable.  She had blonde hair.  He remembered how much it had upset Olivia when he spoke of a blonde haired woman, but he tried to hold onto the image.  She was lying back, in the throes of passion-someone was making love to her, and he remembered what Julia had said about perspective.  It's me, he thought, with wonder.  I love her, but who is she?  <I>Let me see your face, please!</I>  He called out to the image in his mind.</div> <div> <I>I'll always love you, always-throughout eternity,</I> she whispered softly as she disappeared.</div> <div> Slowly, he got back to his knees, taking in slow, deep gulps of air.  I have to remember this, he told himself.  I have to remember it and tell Julia about it.  When he thought he would be able to, he stood up.  The afternoon light was fading fast.  It was December, and the days were shorter.  It would be completely dark by the time he got back to town, he was sure of it.  </div> <div> It was dark, and he was just on the outskirts of Collinsport when he suddenly felt he had to go back.  He had another brief glimpse of a face-the redheaded witch.  Feeling dizzy, he stopped and leaned against a tree, closing his eyes.  <I>Go back!  You have to go back and help him!  You promised you would help!</I></div> <div> <I>Who the hell are you?  Who am I supposed to help?</I></div> <div> She looked distraught.  <I>Oh, my poor darling!  Your memories are locked in the room!  We have to set them free-but first, you have to go back and help him!  Help Chris!</I></div> <div> It was almost like the redheaded witch gave him a push in the other direction.  He found he'd turned away from the village and was half jogging.  He had to be careful not to miss the turn-off for that private road.  He had to hurry-it would be too late soon.  How do I know that?  He wondered.  It didn't matter.  He had to get there!</div> <div> He found the side road at last and turned again, running faster.  As he approached the house, he could hear screams of terror and agony from within.  As he put his hands on the knob he thought he heard a familiar voice again:<I> Don't go in.  You are safer where you are!</I>  The screams came again, and he opened the door easily.  Apparently Monroe hadn't locked the door after Grant ran out in a panic.  As he ran toward the doors, he wondered who was screaming-Monroe?  Or Chris?  </div> <div> The double doors were locked.  "Chris!" he yelled.</div> <div> "Help me!  For the love of God, help me!" One of the two men screamed from within.  Grant heard a low, growling sound.  It was useless to throw himself against the wooden doors, but he noticed that there was a small hole near the knob-it was a lock with a push button, he realized.  He looked around as the growling and barking noises inside became louder and the screaming more frantic.  What had gotten in?  An animal?</div> <div> There was a thin paint brush on the table-it must be used for fine work, but it needed to serve a different purpose know.  It just fit into the little hole in the door knob.  He needed to fiddle with it until he got the catch to release. He wouldn't be able to hear when it happened because it was so noisy in the room, so he kept twisting the knob as he jiggled the paintbrush in the lock.  At last, the door swung open.  It had become deadly quiet in the room except for the sound of heavy wheezing from the floor.  As Grant ran into the room, he saw the body and the blood first.  He heard the growling next and turned to face the most incredible sight he'd ever seen.</div> <div> The wolf beast stood on two legs, as tall as Grant himself.  Its jaws and snout dripped with blood and the arms of the beast were tangled up in some clothing.  It looked at Grant with red, raging eyes, snarled, and charged him.  Grant backed up, looking around for a weapon.  The first thing he saw was a heavy brass bust.  He put his hand on it and then let it go, inexplicably reaching for a silver candlestick holder instead. He grabbed it and thrust it toward the beast, who stopped in its tracks, howling with frustration.  "Get out!" Grant screamed.  His eyes met the beast's and he saw the flicker of <I>something</I>-he couldn't be sure what it was.  The beast turned and ran out the door. Grant's heart was pounding loudly in his ears as he slowly dropped the candlestick holder to the ground.  He realized that he'd been so frightened he'd wet himself and half-chuckled hysterically.  </div> <div> He'd forgotten-until he heard the soft wheezing whisper, "Help me."</div> <bR> <div> He really didn't want to look at the man, but out of decency, he had to help.  He knelt down on the floor, trying not to look directly at the body.  His knees soaked up blood that had already spilled onto the floor from the man's body.  Grant shivered, and remembered another room, another time.  Someone running at the window, pushing her arms through the glass-but who?  As he winced with the ugliness of the image in his mind and the body before him, he heard the familiar sonorous voice say, "<I>It's better to keep that door closed.  Don't look there."</I></div> <div> "Quentin," the man's voice croaked.</div> <div> "Are you Harrison Monroe?" Grant asked, struggling to control his voice.  "Let me call the hospital-an ambulance."</div> <div> A bloody hand grabbed his wrist.  "No-no ambulance!  It's no good!  I need a special doctor!"  The voice was hoarse and raspy.  "Dr. Hoffman!  Call Dr. Hoffman!"  Grant looked down at him, horrified.  How could Julia help him?  "Do it!" Monroe hissed.  "Help me!"</div> <div> Grant ran for the phone on Monroe's desk.  He didn't remember Julia's number; he'd have to call Olivia.  He had to go through the desk clerk first, almost screaming his frustration, but then Olivia finally picked up the phone.  "Olivia!  I need Julia's phone number, quick!  It's an emergency!"  He hoped she wouldn't waste time by arguing or remonstrating with him.</div> <div> The tone of his voice must have been convincing enough because she said, "She's here.  Julia!"</div> <div> When he heard the phone handed over, he didn't wait for Julia to finish saying hello before he started yelling into it for her to come to Harrison Monroe's house.  "Hurry!  He's going to die on me!  There was some kind of animal-"</div> <div> "Grant, I'm coming!" Julia interrupted and hung up.</div> <div> Slowly, Grant hung up and then walked back toward the man. He was sure Monroe would die before Julia arrived-he'd been injured too badly to survive.  First aid?  What should he do?  Stop the bleeding?  How?  He looked around and found grabbed the nearest thing he could find.  He would use it to stanch the worst of it-if he could figure out where it was coming from.  He knelt in the pooling blood beside Monroe again, looking at his mid-section.  He felt nauseated at what he saw there.</div> <div> "I'm cold," Monroe complained fretfully.  "Please-cover me."  Grant was more than willing to do that.  Monroe looked at him as if he realized what it was Grant was trying to do.  "You can't help me," he whispered.  "Only Dr. Hoffman can."</div> <div> "Where's Chris?" Quentin asked.  "Did he run out before that animal attacked him?"</div> <div> Monroe looked at him incredulously.  "My God, you really don't know, do you?  You don't remember?  Thank your God that you don't remember, Quentin!"  He grabbed Grant's wrist again.  "Listen-someday you may remember.  You were right, what you said in Chicago.  He did stop making love to me when I got old.  There was no one else I could love except for Amanda and when you took her, I wouldn't-"  Monroe began to gasp and sob. </div> <div> <I>"He doesn't fuck you anymore now that you're an old man and not so good-looking anymore, eh?"  </I>Grant felt himself go cold as Monroe tightened his grasp.  That's my voice in my head, he thought in horror.  <I>My voice!  When did this happen?</I></div> <div>  "Petofi wouldn't let me stay young, not like you! He wouldn't let me create a new Amanda either!  Not even when he had me draw your precious Beth-not even then! Not even when I gave myself to him!" Monroe's voice seemed to be weakening.  Grant tried to pull away, frightened, but Monroe held on.  "No!  You hear me!  You've taken everything from me-and you'll remember this someday!  I want you to, do you hear me?"</div> <div> Grant closed his eyes.  He heard the voice of a woman and he repeated the words:  "What if someone like Petofi is an ageless evil being that goes on and on?"</div> <div> "Ah, now you begin to understand, eh, Quentin?  Damn you!" </div> <div>  "I think you ought to be quiet and save your strength," Grant told him, hoping he'd die quickly so it would be done with.  He was terrified of the visions and voices assaulting his senses.  In the corner of the room, he thought he could see the outline of a man watching quietly.  He doesn't want me to remember, Grant thought.  It's not safe.   The raving of this man who claimed to know him as Quentin Collins was particularly disturbing because he was beginning to suspect it might all be true.  If it's all true, then-he pulled free of Monroe, standing up and backing away.  He didn't think he could stand it.</div> <div> "I see-" Monroe gasped, and Grant was sure he was going to say `Death' or the `Grim Reaper'.  He was startled when Monroe whispered, "Not yet, Mr. Best, not yet."</div> <div> Grant had had enough.  He turned and ran, nearly knocking Julia to the floor as he re-entered the foyer.  She and Olivia were just coming in.  "There-in-in-th-there!" he stuttered, pointing.</div> <div> He turned toward Olivia, seeking comfort.  She took a step back.  "My God, what's happened!  You're covered with blood!"  She looked at his face.  "Oh, Grant, I didn't think you should have gone with that awful man!"</div> <div> "Olivia-" he began brokenly.  He just wanted her to hold him, like she did the other night.  He wanted her to pet him and tell him everything would be all right.</div> <div> Julia came to the doorway.  "Miss Corey, I need you!" she said urgently.</div> <div> "Me!" Olivia gasped, astonished.</div> <div> "No!" Grant shouted.  Both women jumped, and Olivia retreated another step.</div> <div> "Miss Corey, if you want things to go your way, I <I>need</I> you!" Julia insisted meaningfully.</div> <div> To his astonishment, Olivia actually began to go with Julia.  He grabbed her arm.  "No!  You can't go in there!"</div> <div> "She'll be all right, Grant, " Julia soothed.  "You wait for us outside-go to my car, sweetie, you remember which one it is, don't you?"</div> <div> He nodded numbly and stumbled out the door.  He didn't want to be in that house anymore.  He found Julia's car and leaned against it, shivering in the cold.  He didn't know what had happened to the trenchcoat.  Just as he was sure he would freeze to death, Julia reappeared in the doorway.  "Grant!" she called.</div> <div> "No!" He didn't want to go back in there.</div> <div> She walked to the car and put her hand on his arm.  "It's all right.  It's over."  She looked at him closely.  "You're near frozen, Grant, where is your coat?"</div> <div> "I don't know."</div> <div> "Come inside.  We have to call the police now."  Her voice was soft and soothing but implacable.</div> <div> "Don't make me go back there," he whispered.</div> <div> "I'll help you.  You trust me, don't you?"</div> <div> "Make me forget," he pleaded.</div> <div> "Come on.  Let's see what we can do."</div> <div> Olivia was waiting for them just inside the foyer, her face very pale and strained.  "Is he all right?" she asked anxiously.</div> <div> "Yes, he'll be all right," Julia assured her.  "Why don't we go into the other room?"  They went in the opposite direction of the study.  There was a small kitchen, which looked as if it had never been used.  The little kitchen table had four chairs around it.  Julia had Grant sit down.</div> <div> "Why did you want Olivia?" Grant wanted to know.</div> <div> "He-he asked to see me," Olivia answered in a strained voice.</div> <div> Remembering the awful things Monroe had said to him about her great-grandmother, Grant was alarmed.  "Why?  Why would he want to see you?"</div> <div> Olivia's eyes filled with tears.  "I-I was his pa-patron," she answered, looking away quickly.  Grant  knew she was lying.</div> <div> He looked at Julia.  "He asked for you-he didn't want an ambulance.  Why?"</div> <div> "Because, as I told you, I deal in special cases," Julia replied steadily, looking him in the eyes.  "Mr. Monroe knew that, too.  Can you tell me what happened?"</div> <div> Grant explained what happened from the time he and Chris arrived. As soon as he mentioned the name `Amanda', he heard Olivia draw her breath in.  She was looking at him with huge, frightened eyes.  Grant was shocked and frightened when the dummy's head fell off, and he ran.  "I had some flashes of memory when I ran out, but I don't remember what they all were," he went on fretfully.  "I just remember they scared me.  I saw the red-headed witch again-she was the one who had me come back here."  </div> <div> He described the beast and how it had come toward him.  He started to pick up a bust but then changed his mind and picked up a lightweight silver candlestick holder instead.  "That stopped it," he said, in wonder.  "It ran away.  Then I tried to help Mr. Monroe."  He told Julia the rest of it, seeing them both react to the name Petofi.  "I don't understand what it means, but it's really evil, isn't it?" </div> <div> "Count Petofi was an evil man," Julia agreed.</div> <div> "I knew him-I know it, deep inside, I do," he groaned.</div> <div> "Grant, may I hypnotize you again?" Julia asked.  "I'd like to try and recover those flashes of memory you had outside."</div> <div> "All right," he said.  He was grateful when Olivia reached out and took his hand as Julia fished for the medallion.  When she brought him back out of his hypnotic state, he could remember little fragments.  He didn't feel frightened and panicky; he assumed Julia placed a suggestion that he would feel relaxed after coming out of it.  He looked for Olivia.  "Where is she?"</div> <div> "Calling the sheriff," Julia replied.  "She'll be right back.  How do you feel?"</div> <div> "I'm not scared," he answered.  "I don't understand how it could be possible that I am this Quentin Collins."</div> <div> "Layer by layer, we peel the onion until we get to the center of it," Julia said softly.</div> <div> "Chris Jennings-is he all right?" Grant asked.  "He wasn't here when I got back.  Do you suppose he saw-it-that beast, and got away before it attacked?"</div> <div> "I'm sure he's had quite a shock," Julia mused.  "He'll recover."</div> <div> Olivia came back in and started to put her arms around Grant's neck.  She hesitated then, gingerly gave him a hug and stepped back.  "Are you better, Grant?" she asked.  She turned to Julia.  "The sheriff is on the way.  Do you suppose it will take very long?"</div> <div> "I've no idea," Julia answered.</div> <div> A man died, for Chrissakes, Grant thought.  He looked up at Olivia, wondering why she'd ask such a thing.  "I've asked Mr. Nakamura to pick up a few things for you, Grant," she said softly.  "I'm afraid it's too late for us to go shopping, and your clothes are positively ruined."  She wrinkled her nose.  "They're bloody and filthy."  Embarrassed, he remembered what he'd done and turned bright red.  "I asked him to take the other clothes that were torn in the accident and use them to get the sizes.  We'll just throw your old clothes out.  We can go shopping tomorrow. You'll need a new coat among other things."</div> <div> "What happened to my coat?" Grant asked.  He was wondering about that.</div> <div> "Why-you used it to cover Mr. Monroe," Olivia explained.</div> <div> He hadn't realized.  He thought he was grabbing a blanket.  He laughed wildly.  It was better than crying.</div> <bR> <div> "Grant, why don't you go in and run a warm bath?" Olivia suggested.  "I just want to talk to Julia for a minute."</div> <div> She was lying again.  He was too tired to care, though, so he obeyed her.  His room had a full bath.  He went into the bedroom, stripping off the clothes and throwing them on the floor as he went.  Naked, he began to run the water, running his fingers under the water as it ran.  He wanted it as hot as he could tolerate it.  </div> <div> He climbed into the tub and was surprised that the water was hotter than he thought.  It hadn't felt like that on his fingers!  He smiled, thinking that his fingers had to be less sensitive than his backside and sank into the hot water anyway, groaning with satisfaction.  He got the soap and began to scrub himself hard.  He had a sudden feeling of déjà vu-that this was something he'd done before.  Unnerved, he didn't stay in the tub as long as he intended.  He finished scrubbing himself, washed his hair, and let the water start draining out.</div> <div> There was a large, thick towel in the bathroom, and he was grateful for that.  Little towels weren't much use.  He wrapped the towel around his middle and opened the door.  "Oh!" Olivia exclaimed, surprised.  Apparently, she'd been about to come in with a thick robe.  It was new.  Mr. Nakamura apparently had come back from his shopping trip.  "That was quick!"</div> <div> "I wasn't that dirty," he answered.  </div> <div> She held the robe up.  It was almost purple.  "Do you like it?"</div> <div> He touched it.  "It's nice-thank you."</div> <div> She moved closer to him.  "You're upset-I can tell.  Why don't you lie down and let me rub your shoulders?"</div> <div> "Okay, that would be nice," he said awkwardly.  He wanted to talk to her about what was really going on.  Maybe this would be the best way to start.  Olivia sat down on the bed beside him, rubbing the tight muscles in his shoulders with the heels of her hands.  She used her fingers to work on the knots and cords between his neck and shoulders.  Slowly, he began to relax and become sleepy.</div> <div> She was massaging him down the length of his back.   "You know, while you were out, I got a call from your landlady.  I told her that you still couldn't remember everything.  She told me that you have some old photo albums in your room.  You also gave her a spare key to a safety deposit bank in Portland.  I thought, well, I thought maybe we could have Mr. Nakamura take us there before or after we've gone shopping.  What do you think?"</div> <div> "I think that's a good idea," he said.  He was interested.  There had to be some clues in the pictures-maybe he'd see someone he would remember.  Maybe there would be some important papers at the bank that would jar his memory at last.  Olivia's fingers had continued to move down his back.  "That really feels good," he encouraged her, and so she kept going.  As she got to the base of his spine, she moved the towel.  He'd become aroused and if she kept going, he knew he would want to make love to her.  He reached back with his hand to grab her wrist.  "Stop a minute.  I want to talk."</div> <div> She'd been in the process of trying to pull the towel off him.  "Talk?"  He almost laughed at the way she said the word.  She was surprised but it was more than that.  She must think I'm crazy, he thought, amused.</div> <div> "Before we go any further, I mean," he explained, rolling over.  He kept the towel over him to hide his erection.  If she kept going, he would not want to stop.  "Olivia, why did you lie to me about you and Julia?"</div> <div> There was a defensive look in her eyes.  "What do you mean?  Why do you think I lied to you?"</div> <div> He started to sit up.  "Oh, come on, please!  Don't play games with me, all right?  You and Julia are just about at each other every time you get into the same room.  This isn't about paintings or art collections, is it?  Julia knows something about you-something you haven't told me.  And that Monroe guy-he knew you, too, didn't he?  And not as an art patron, either.  He was talking about your great-grandmother, Olivia."</div> <div> Olivia looked away, distressed.  "Yes, there is something that you don't know.  I haven't been keeping it a secret from you to play games.  It's just that-I need you to remember on your own."</div> <div> "I'm beginning to remember a few things," he told her.  "I need some help, here, though.   I have bits and pieces of memories, but I don't understand them all.  You remember when you showed me the portrait of your great-grandmother?  She looked like you, but she was dressed differently-and yet, I had a feeling I met her.  You asked me if I thought that she was you."</div> <div> "I remember," Olivia answered softly, looking at her hands, which were now folded on her lap.  They didn't rest quietly, though.  She clasped and unclasped them nervously, twisting first one finger and then another.</div> <div> "And you also said the portrait was painted in 1895."</div> <div> "Yes."</div> <div> "Who is it?  And who are you?  You're real name isn't Olivia Corey, is it?"</div> <div> She turned her eyes back toward him.  "You're right about that!" she cried.  "If I am not Olivia Corey, then who am I?  You heard the name!  Can't you remember it?"</div> <div> He thought about Harrison Monroe.  "Are you Amanda Harris?" he asked tentatively.</div> <div> "Do you think that I am?" she asked.</div> <div> He was beginning to feel exasperated but didn't want to lose his temper.  "Please help me," he told her.  "I don't know if that' s your name or not.  Harrison Monroe said he thought I was Quentin Collins.  He said that Quentin Collins took Amanda Harris away from him.  He wanted to see <I>you</I>, didn't he?  Did he think that you were Amanda Harris?"</div> <div> "Yes," she admitted softly, and he fell back a little, not sure how he felt about that.  "When he painted the portrait of Amanda Harris, he was using another name-Charles Delaware Tate.  Do you know that name?"</div> <div> "No," he said dully.  "If you are Amanda Harris and I am Quentin Collins, what's happened to us?  Why aren't we old?"</div> <div> Her eyes were filling with tears.  "I can't answer that, I'm sorry."</div> <div> "It's not fair!  I don't know the rules to this game!"  His voice rose a little.</div> <div> Olivia picked his hand up and held it to his cheek.  "I don't understand them, either, Grant, and I didn't make them up.  It's not my idea."  She truly seemed grieved, and he decided not to be angry with him.  She was still keeping something back; he knew it was so, but it seemed to be something she couldn't tell him-perhaps it was too traumatic, like some of the memories that Julia kept submerged for him.</div> <div> He pulled on her hand, urging her to lie down with him.  He kissed her, softly at first, but then became a little more demanding.  Now she was the one to stop him.  "Grant," she whispered.  "How do you feel about me?"</div> <div> "Like this," he answered, taking her hand and placing it now on his erect penis.  "I want you."</div> <div> "Do you love me?"</div> <div> He released her and sat up a little again, looking down at her.  "You said we were close.  Didn't I tell you how I felt?"</div> <div> "A long time ago, yes.  But I need to know how you feel <I>now</I>."</div> <div> He was confused.  What did he feel for her?  Lust, yes.  He was grateful that she'd taken him in and cared for him.   He was grateful for her presence and her comfort-but was that love?  "Olivia, truthfully, I don't know what I feel.  I'm confused and lost.  You took me in and took care of me-you've given me shelter and comfort.  We've made love, and I want you right now.  I don't know if that's love.  Do you want me to lie to you?  I think I've said `I love you' to other women before, and it was just so that I could f-uh, be with them."</div> <div> "No, I don't want you to lie to me," Olivia answered sadly.  "It has to be the truth."</div> <div> "I feel something for you," he began and stopped.  A few tears slid out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  He'd hurt her again.  "Would you rather I leave?  I don't want to hurt you anymore."</div> <div> "No, don't leave me," she cried.  "Come to me, now-I need you so much!"</div> <div> He knew that he had loved someone dearly before.  Maybe it was Olivia-maybe it wasn't.  He felt guilty as he began to kiss and caress her but it wasn't enough for him to be honorable about it and stop until he knew for sure.  Olivia was responding to him, clinging to him with a sort of desperation.  If anything, she was more passionate with him and more demanding, so that when he finally began to move within her, he sensed she was climaxing almost immediately.  She was wild, like a feral cat, and when she clawed at his shoulders, he felt himself losing control and coming to his own climax.  </div> <div> He held her tenderly, thinking that it was some wild ride.  Sex with her was always exciting.  Would it stay that way, though?  Was this the same as love?  He didn't say what he was thinking, not wanting to hurt her any more than he already had.  He kissed her hair and held on to her, feeling her own hold on him tighten.  It almost felt as if she was afraid to let him go.</div> <bR> <div> After breakfast, Mr. Nakamura drove Grant and Olivia to Portland.  He pulled up in front of a large house with a wrap-around porch, fully decorated with wreaths and lights.  It was a nice house, but it had a weathered look to it.  Grant got out and looked at it.  Rich people don't live here, he thought, but it sure looks homey.  There was a Christmas tree visible in the front window.  </div> <div> Olivia had been clinging to him during the entire ride.  Her face had a strained, pinched look to it.  Whenever Grant asked her if she was feeling all right, though, she would nod and refuse to answer.  Several times during the ride, she'd given him a pleading look, and he knew what she wanted.  I could tell her that I love her, he thought to himself.  It would make her happy.  She would lose that desperate look on her face.  What if I say it, though, and I find out later it's not so?  That it's someone else that I love, or that there was some good reason that kept us apart?  It wouldn't be fair to either of us.  He took the coward's way out and stopped asking her what was wrong.  Now she asked quietly, "Do you recognize it?"</div> <div> He really did not-except for the impression that this was another safe haven.  A place to come to, but not home.  The door opened, and an older woman came out, walking with some difficulty.  She came down the steps one at a time.  She had a bright, cheerful expression in spite of the difficulty she seemed to be having.  Arthritis, he thought, and held the thought, turning it over carefully.  It was another memory fragment.   "Grant!" she called.</div> <div> "Oh, hello, Mrs. Bailey," he answered.  Olivia told him her name on the drive here:  Christina Bailey.</div> <div> "Oh!" She cried now, clasping his hand in hers.  "You remember!"</div> <div> Oops, he thought.  He glanced at Olivia and then back at Mrs. Bailey. "Uh, no, I'm sorry, I don't really remember.  Olivia told me."</div> <div> Mrs. Bailey's face fell.  "I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it.  He was touched.  She invited them in for coffee, and they accepted.  Over their cups, Grant asked her to tell him anything she could remember he said to her about friends and family.  She laughed a little nervously.  "As nice as you are, Grant, you were always rather secretive.  You didn't say much about either.  I used to ask you sometimes if you had family somewhere, and you'd say, `Oh, Mrs. Bailey, you're the only family I need.' I'm sorry."</div> <div> "It's all right," Grant replied with good grace.  Inwardly, though, he despaired.  Why was he so secretive?  "So-no girlfriends?  No loud parties?"</div> <div> Olivia looked at him sharply.  Mrs. Bailey noticed and answered, "You were always considerate of me, Grant.  No loud parties, no ladies, no drunken carousing-there was just one thing, though.  You are a freelance writer and sometimes you'd get an assignment and go off for a few weeks."</div> <div> "Really?" Grant brightened.  "Did I tell you about the stories?"</div> <div> "Oh, well, recently you were at Woodstock-" She broke off at his expression.</div> <div> "No, no, go on, please!  I wrote about the concert?"</div> <div> "Yes, that was the most recent.  And you were in Chicago and ran into some trouble at the Democratic Convention last year," Mrs. Bailey went on.  He had no memory of that at all except for a phrase that suddenly popped into his head: "<I>The whole world is watching, the whole world is watching!"</I>  "Oh, and there were some human interest stories you wrote in the Catskill Mountains from time to time."</div> <div> "The Catskills?"  he asked curiously.  He looked at Olivia.</div> <div> "They're mountains in New York.  Not far from Woodstock."</div> <div> "I know," he said impatiently.  "I know what they are.  I just wondered if you had ever been there?  With me?"</div> <div> She shook her head.  "Why?"</div> <div> He didn't want to tell her.  He'd had a glimpse of someone…a woman, but he didn't want to upset her.  "I can't remember," he answered irritably.  "I just thought you might, that's all!"  </div> <div> The conversation had come to a close.  Mrs. Bailey showed him which key on his keychain opened the door to his room.  "Oh," she said suddenly, "and this one" she indicated another one "is for your Harley."</div> <div> "I have a motorcycle?" he asked, delighted.</div> <div> "Yes-parked in the garage.  You can take it with you, if you like."</div> <div> He looked at Olivia.  She didn't appear to be so thrilled.  "Do you mind?" he asked.  She shrugged.  Mrs. Bailey discreetly excused herself.  They went up to his room and looked around.  He felt suddenly uncomfortable and didn't want to stay.  He didn't want to see the photo albums.  "Look, let's get out of here and go to the bank," he said to Olivia.</div> <div> "Don't you want to look at the pictures?"</div> <div> "Not now-I don't think I can handle it.  Mrs. Bailey says I'm paid up through next month.  We can come back.  Let's go to the bank-please."</div> <div> "All right," she agreed.</div> <div> Mrs. Bailey showed them the door to the garage.  Grant admired the Harley.  Amanda curled her lip with distaste.  "I wonder if you were one of those Hell's Angels?" she asked, sounding a little contemptuous.</div> <div> He looked at her.  Snob, he thought.  "I don't think so," he answered, trying to kid her.  "No tattoos."  She didn't laugh.   He straddled the motorcycle and bounced up and down a little.  He liked the feel.  "You don't like it," he observed.</div> <div> "Well, Grant, it's just that-" she began and broke off.  "Never mind.  Let's go to the bank.  Can you really remember how to ride that thing?"</div> <div> "We'll find out, won't we?  I'll follow you."  To his delight, he found that he remembered how to ride a motorcycle very well.  Thank God it wasn't total amnesia, he thought, following behind Mr. Nakamura and Olivia.</div> <div> The bank manager led them back to the vault and showed them which box was his.  The manager left them alone, and Grant opened it.  Reaching inside, he pulled out sheaves of paper.  "What the hell--?" he wondered.  He handed some of it to Olivia; it all seemed to be stocks, bonds, and other bank currency.</div> <div> "My God, Grant!" Olivia exclaimed.</div> <div> He was more than shocked himself.  Speechlessly, he looked at the documents.  All of these things had belonged to Frank Healey, who seemed to transfer it all over to Joseph Fisher, who'd then transferred everything to Grant Douglas.  "There's five million dollars in assets here," Olivia whispered.  "You're rich."</div> <div> "But who do I have to thank?" he wondered.  "Who are these guys?"</div> <div> "I don't know-we can find out later.  At least there are two good names to work on," Olivia said.  "You should be able to trace them.  Put it all back.  I want to call Julia."  She sounded very nervous.  Again, he was tempted to ask her what was wrong but he restrained himself.  He waited patiently for her outside the phone booth while she made her call.  When she came out, she said, "Do you mind if we cut our shopping trip short again?"</div> <div> "No," he answered, trying to kid again, "but it we don't get this done soon, Santa won't have anything to bring us."</div> <div> She smiled faintly.  "Julia has something to show us."</div> <div> He was curious and in a good mood.  He wondered what it was.  He didn't think anything could top what he'd found out in the bank, though.  </div> <bR> <div> Julia met them at the house of someone called Professor Osmund.  She took them inside and up the stairs to the man's cluttered studio.  There was a covered portrait standing in the room.  "Oh, another artist?" Grant asked.  "Or is this a Harrison Monroe-or a what's his name? Charles Delaware State?"</div> <div> "Tate!" Olivia sounded aggravated.</div> <div> Julia smiled.  "I see you have been discussing Tate's works, perhaps?"</div> <div> "It came up in conversation," Grant answered.  He was feeling very pleased with himself.  He was a rich man, whoever he was.  </div> <div> "This portrait was done at about the same time as the one I gave you, Olivia," Julia explained.  "Like that portrait, it was covered over with a landscape.  Although we were unable to salvage the landscape, Professor Osmund was able to make a duplicate copy for the owner."</div> <div> "How nice of the owner to make such a sacrifice," Grant said mockingly.</div> <div> "Actually, it was," Julia replied a little sharply.  </div> <div> Grant decided he'd better watch what he said.  This seemed to be a sore spot that he didn't want to irritate.  There was something else he wanted to bring up.  "I've decided I really want to know what secrets the two of you are keeping from me.  That other portrait-Olivia tells me it is her.  It was painted in 1895 and that she is really Amanda Harris.  Now, I have this odd feeling that under that cover is a portrait of me and you think I'm suddenly going to remember it all, don't you?"</div> <div> At his challenging tone, Julia lifted her chin and replied calmly but coolly, "Yes, I am hoping that's what is going to happen."</div> <div> There was a voice in Grant's head, quite forceful:  "<I>You can't stay here as you are! Don't look and you will be safe</I>."  He shook his head.  "This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed, turning to leave.</div> <div> Olivia grabbed him.  "Oh, please, Grant!  If I mean anything at all to you, even just a little bit, please stay!  Please look at it!"</div> <div> He looked at her, about to speak roughly to her and leave.  NO! I won't hurt her-she does mean something to me.  I do feel something for her.  He turned back toward Julia.  "All right," he said.  "Let's see it."</div> <div> Julia pulled the cover off.  His first impression was that someone had ruined it during the restoration.  The next impression was that it that creature couldn't possibly be a human being.  He covered his ears then.  Amanda was shrieking wildly.  That wasn't the only thing he heard.  He heard that man's laughter again-and that was worse. </div> <div> The room seemed to be spinning around and around.  He saw the man-short, round, curly gray hair and thick glasses-moving toward him rapidly, thrusting a broken glass into his face.  He covered his face with his hands and screamed, too, turning away.  He felt Julia's arms on his, trying to turn him around.  "You're remembering!  Don't turn away-look at it!"  He pulled his hands away from his face, expecting them to be covered with his blood-but there was nothing.  There was no blood because the portrait took care of it.</div> <div> He turned to look at the portrait again, staring with horror at that hideous, corrupt figure with the scar upon its cheek.  It's me, he thought.  It <I>is</I> me.  He was assailed with images: his hands around Jenny's throat, strangling her; Magda's curse; the agony of the transformation; Barnabas trying to help; Petofi bringing the unwanted portrait-for a price, and what a price!  All of it was coming back now.  Petofi forcibly exchanging bodies with him; Julia's attempts to help; Barnabas' return after being "destroyed" by Pansy Faye; the mind switch back; Beth plummeting off Widow's Hill.  "Oh, God!" he cried out, feeling his legs grow weak.</div> <div> "Quentin!  It's all right, I'm here," Julia was saying into his ear.  She was pulling him into a chair.  He rocked himself, head in his hands.  "You know who you are, don't you?" she was asking.</div> <div> Yes, he knew.  It was all coming back in a rush:  running from Petofi; meeting Amanda in New York and leaving her there; wandering the world; returning home during Prohibition to draw his adult nephew Jamison unwittingly into the underworld business of smuggling booze; the act of revenge that killed Jamison's wife; meeting Petofi again-in the body of the Master of Dartmoor; Petofi assaulting him; Angelique returning to help him plan revenge; finding Beth again, reincarnated; Edward's death; trapping Petofi-or so he thought; leaving Chicago with Beth and Nora and the children when it appeared Petofi was not dead after all; going to Vienna; the Anschluss; evacuating Nora and the children, now grown; smuggling people out of the country-mostly children, including Julia herself; being dragged to prison by the Nazis, separated again from Beth-</div> <div> "Quentin," Julia whispered, tugging his arm.  "Quentin, please look at me."  She sounded frightened.</div> <div> "Oh, God!" he moaned.  He remembered the torture, the beatings, realizing the high ranking Nazi who came to see him and threaten him was another toady of Petofi's and wanting to die; the rescue by the Underground and being smuggled out of the country to safety; the years of wandering Eastern Europe on the pretext of gathering information for his country when he really was seeking Beth and a cure for himself and finding neither; the vivid dreams from Jenny, telling him to go home and help their great-grandson, telling him to seek out help from Barnabas and Julia.  Barnabas!  He went cold all over.  He knew what Barnabas had done to him, too!  He realized he was weeping, feeling Julia holding him, rocking him as if he was a child.</div> <div> I have to pull myself together, he told himself.  I'm not helping anyone doing this.  He put his arms around Julia and hugged her, fiercely grateful.  He opened his eyes and looked at her.  "I remember everything," he said hoarsely.  "Amanda-" He broke off.  She wasn't in the room anymore.  "Where is she?"</div> <div> "She panicked and ran," Julia explained softly.</div> <div> He laughed, a little wildly.  He was nearly in hysterics himself.  "Gee, I can't understand why she'd do that!"</div> <div> Julia smiled a little.  "You have to go after her.  There's not much time."</div> <div> "What do you mean, `there's not much time'?" he asked blankly.</div> <div> Julia hesitated a moment and then said, "I can't tell you everything all at once.  You've already had to absorb too much as it is. Sweetie, if you love Amanda, you have to find her and tell her that.  If you don't, she'll die."</div> <div> He couldn't believe it.  "Is she ill?"</div> <div> Julia sighed.  "After you left her in New York, she tried to kill herself.  She was rescued by a Mr. Best-Death."  Quentin started, recognizing the name Tate had called out.  "He gave her a reprieve-she would remain young and beautiful and she could search the world for you.  If she found you before the date she was supposed to die and you told her you loved her, she would live forever.  If not, then on the date she was to die, he would come to claim her."</div> <div> "Oh, my God," Quentin whispered.  "Today?"</div> <div> "It should have been last night," Julia said.  "Apparently Mr. Best is a soft touch."</div> <div> What was he to do?  Beth was his love.  Yet, Amanda had tried to kill herself and searched the world for him.  She loved him.   She'd taken care of him.  He owed her something.  "I have to try to save her." He jumped up.  He swayed a little.</div> <div> "Quentin!" Julia exclaimed, concerned.</div> <div> "I'm all right," he assured her.  "I'm all right.  It's not easy to have your entire life hit you like a freight train, that's all."</div> <div> "Find Amanda and bring her back her, sweetie.   Then we'll talk.  I'll help you."</div> <div> He squeezed her arms.  "Thanks, Julia!"  He turned and ran, determined to find Amanda.  Running onto the street, he could see her three blocks ahead, arguing with a man.  "Amanda!" he shouted.  She turned toward him.  He could see the look on her face: hopelessness and despair.  The man took her firmly by the elbow and began to walk away with her.  "Hey!" he yelled.  "Stop!"  He ran into the street, heedless of the traffic.  They turned a corner.</div> <div> He ran faster.  When he got to the corner, he stopped cold.  They'd disappeared into thin air.  There was something on the ground ahead, though.  He jogged over to pick it up-Amanda's handkerchief, with the initials OC embroidered into it.  Olivia Corey!  He thought.  He could smell her fragrance on the handkerchief.  Why didn't she tell me?  He wondered, frustrated.</div> <div> I can't just let her be taken like that-not without a word and not without trying to save her, he thought.  I do love her in a way, I do.  I love her for what she did to help me.  I have to try to help her, too, or I couldn't forgive myself.  I couldn't save Beth, but maybe I can save her-and I know how!  He suddenly was sure he knew why Barnabas had stolen his memories.  I know too much-I am a danger to him because of what I know!</div> <div> He looked at the handkerchief.  Yes, I learned a hell of a lot wandering the world, he thought.  And you, Mr. Best, and I are going to have a little chat.  Then I'll worry about Barnabas and Chris and Beth.  Clutching the handkerchief tightly, he walked into the woods, looking for a quiet place where he could be alone and concentrate.  He began chanting quietly, calling on Mr. Best to show himself.  He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated, thinking as he chanted:  You have to come, Mr. Best, because I know your name.  You can't stay away.</div> <div>      He opened his eyes.  A nattily dressed man in a bowler hat stood before him, looking very annoyed.  "You are a very foolish young man to call me to you like this.  Have you any idea who I really am?"</div> <div>      "Of course I do," Quentin replied.  "I'm not a fool, you know."</div> <div>      "I wonder," Mr. Best replied acidly. "What do you want with me?"</div> <div>      "I think you know."</div> <div>      Mr. Best smiled grimly.  "So-you do love her then, don't you?"</div> <div>      "Yes, I do," he declared stoutly.  "You can't just take her away without letting me see her and telling her that.  In fact, I don't think you should have taken her away at all."</div> <div>      "Really?" Mr. Best seemed surprised but intrigued.  "How so?"</div> <div>      "Obviously you made some kind of ridiculous deal with her-and even though I had amnesia, she wasn't allowed to tell me anything about it.  You're the reason why she had to with hold information from me."</div> <div>      "Yes, but she's had her chance all these years.  How was I to know you'd have the misfortune to have amnesia?  There are no clauses."</div> <div>      "Fine-she's had her chance, what about mine?"</div> <div>      Best laughed.  "Oh, please!"</div> <div>      "I know where the portrait is.  Truthfully, after everything I've been through, I've pretty well had it.  The same monster has tormented me for nearly all these years, and I'm sick of it.  I'd rather stay with Amanda."</div> <div>      Best looked at him with understanding.  "I know who you mean."  He actually shuddered.  "I'm very glad that is not my department."  He studied Quentin thoughtfully.  "Well, you are a very interesting character, young man.  I like you.  I like Amanda very much.  Two lovers who haven't been together in nearly a century finally finding each other again-only to be torn apart.  It is tragic."  There was a crafty expression on his face.  "So, would you like to make a deal?  Tell you what I'm going to do…" He sounded just like one of those shady carnival barkers, but Quentin listened carefully, nodding his head.  "I'll give you a chance to save your Amanda, but you have to get her out on your own.  You're going to need all of your courage and cunning to escape.  I warn you-there will be traps, tricks, and ambushes.  It won't be easy.  Do you want to try it?"</div> <div>      "Yes."  As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Quentin realized he was in the netherworld with Mr. Best.  It was dark.  There was a flare and then Mr. Best presented him with two lit candles.</div> <div>      "You must not touch.  If you do, she will be lost to you forever.  If you can reach the outside world, she'll be with you for eternity-if that is what you both want.  Do you understand?"</div> <div>      As soon as Quentin said he did, Mr. Best disappeared.  Quentin looked around for him, but he was gone.  He heard a sound behind him and whirled.  It was Amanda, reaching for him.  "No!" he exclaimed sharply.  "Don't touch me!"</div> <div>      Amanda stopped, stunned.  "What are you doing here?  Why can't I touch you?"</div> <div>      "I've come to get you out of here.  You're coming back with me, Amanda."  As soon as he said her name, she gasped, her eyes filling with tears.  "Yes, I remember everything.  I'm going to help you.  We're going to get out of here, but we mustn't touch.  That's what Mr. Best said.  All right?  Do you trust me?"</div> <div>      After a moment, she whispered, "Yes.  Oh, Quentin, I love you!"</div> <div>      He set the second candle down on the rock shelf beside him.  "I love you, too, Amanda," he said softly.  At the moment, he meant it.  He didn't think about what eternity together would mean.  He just knew he had to give back what he had taken and save her.  "We mustn't touch at all-that's the rule.  No matter what, we don't touch.  Are you ready?"</div> <div>      Swallowing hard, she nodded and picked up the candle.</div> <div>  </div> <div>      It was almost over; the end was in sight.  Once he'd crossed the bridge over the yawning pit, Quentin could see light coming from above.  Excited, he turned back and called to Amanda, "We're almost through!  You just have to cross over this bridge!  Come on, Amanda!  Come on!"</div> <div>      Amanda gripped either side of the tenuous rope bridge, frozen stiff. "I can't do this!  I threw myself from a bridge and I'm frightened! I've always been frightened of heights since!" She cried out.</div> <div>      "Don't look down, Amanda!" Quentin called to her. Of course Best would make this the final test!  The bridge was rickety and crossed some noxious, sulphurous smelling roiling mass of poison from the bowels of the earth.  "Look at me!  Look at me!"</div> <div>      As if willing herself to be strong, Amanda looked directly into Quentin's eyes.  He tried to communicate all the courage and love he could to her.  She set out slowly, one foot in front of the other.  "All you have to do is look at me!" he called to her, encouragingly.  Her face took on a puzzled look, and she cocked her head as if listening to someone.  "Amanda!  What is it?"     She looked away and then down.  She froze, watching the bubbling evil soup with a horrid sort of fascination.  "Amanda!  Come on!"  When she didn't respond, he started out onto the bridge, hanging on tightly until he was just in front of her.  "Amanda!" he yelled.</div> <div>      This time, she looked at him.  "You don't really love me," she said softly.  "You'll get tired of me and leave me."</div> <div>      "Best is trying to play tricks on you, Amanda, don't listen to him!"  Amanda didn't answer.  She looked over the side again.  "No!  Look at me, Amanda!  Come on!" Quentin shouted.  Slowly, she turned her eyes toward him.  "Don't look away from me-just look at me and follow me!" Quentin ordered her, feeling desperate.  He could see the fear and doubt in her eyes and cursed Best for this latest trick, but there wasn't any time to waste right now.  And he wasn't allowed to touch her…above all, he couldn't do that… "Come on!"  He backed up a step.</div> <div>      Gratified, he saw Amanda take another step forward.  "Good, good," he urged in a soft, soothing voice.  "Just keep your eyes on me and follow me, my love-I'll get us out of here." He backed up another step, and she took one more step forward.  They were almost over the bridge when she seemed to hear something again and stopped, frozen.     "What is it, Amanda?"</div> <div>      "You killed them, Quentin-Beth and Jenny!  And you'll kill me, too!"  She burst out.  She looked over the side again.  There was a rumbling sound.</div> <div>      They were out of time, Quentin realized.  "He's lying to you, Amanda!" he cried, desperately.  "Amanda, please look at me!"</div> <div>      She met his eyes once more.  "Oh, Quentin-it's too late! He's tricked me!  You could have just left me here and gone on with your life, but you didn't.  You came for me, and I didn't believe in you!"</div> <div>      "It's not too late!  Not yet!  Come on, Amanda!  Run!" She started to run to him, reaching for him, even as the bridge began to rock.</div> <div>      No! Quentin thought.  They weren't supposed to touch.  As she reached for him, he thought he managed to evade her fingers.  He grabbed for the sleeves of her blouse.  The rumbling grew louder, and the bridge fell away from the opposite side.  Screaming, Amanda began to plunge downward with the bridge.  Quentin still had hold of the material of her blouse, but he could feel it tearing.  All around them, rocks and other material from this tormented place began to come down around them.  The bridge dangled against the wall; one side of it was in the bubbling brew, hissing and crackling as it burned.  Amanda screamed in despair.</div> <div>      "Amanda, grab the bridge!  Grab the slats!"  Quentin shouted at her.</div> <div>      "I'm going to die!" she screamed, in a panic.  </div> <div> The fabric was tearing, tearing, even as Quentin tried to hold on to her for dear life.  For dear life, he thought, looking at her, willing her to hang on.  "I won't let you die," Quentin told her, determined to keep her with him.  He couldn't lose her-not now.  "I can't hold your blouse-it's tearing.  Grab onto the slats of the bridge, Amanda!  I'll pull you up!"</div> <div> One sleeve tore all the way through, and Amanda felt herself drop.  She screamed.  The rocks falling from above struck her, cutting her face, her arms, and her back.  It hurt terribly, but she didn't want to die.  With one hand, she grabbed onto a part of the bridge, which still dangled from the side to freedom.  The bridge sagged under her weight; she could feel the wall of the pit.  It was smooth obsidian rock-there was nothing to hang on to but the slats of the bridge.</div> <div> "Hold on, Amanda!"  Looking up, she saw that Quentin was lying flat now, one hand still grasping the sleeve of her other hand.  "Listen to me, I want you to hold on with both hands.  I'm going to pull the ladder up."</div> <div> She was terrified, but she put her other hand on the slat and hung on for dear life.  She shut her eyes; the fumes from the noxious thick river of sludge below was making her sick to her stomach.  There was a jerk on the ladder, and she shrieked as her fingers were pinched between the slat and the smooth wall.  There was another voice whispering into her ear.  <I>Help me, and I will help you, my dear.</I>  Oh yes, she thought, oh yes! A familiar face floated before her eyes momentarily.  Petofi, she thought, even here--</div> <div> She felt herself being pulled up, very slowly.  "Oh, Quentin, hurry!" she cried out.  She imagined him above, struggling to pull her to safety, his muscles bunching, sweat pouring from his body as he exerted himself to save her.  Inch by painful inch, she felt herself moving up, even as sticks, stones, dirt and other pieces of trash fell all around them.</div> <div> "Can you pull yourself up?" Quentin gasped.  She opened her eyes, looking into his.  He was soaked through with perspiration; his face was dusty and dirty from the mess that had been falling.  The sweat streaked his face as if they were tears. "Amanda!"</div> <div> "I-I can't!  There's no place to grab on!" she finally managed to explain.</div> <div> "All right.  Hold on."  He got to his feet, his arms tangled through the slats of the ladder which was attached to this side and began to haul her up. Suddenly, she was over the top and lying on the floor of the cavern.  Quentin was only a few feet away from her.  "Get up!  Get up, come on, Amanda!  We've got to get through before the opening closes!"</div> <div> She looked up and saw the light.  There was an opening-it was the way out!  She could see Quentin framed in the opening-the light behind him was dazzling, throwing him into shadow.  The light was almost blinding.  She covered her eyes.  "I can't see!" she cried.</div> <div> "It doesn't matter!  Get up quick or we'll be stuck here forever!  Now, you don't want that, do you?" Quentin was shouting at her.  She began to struggle to her knees and then fell forward.  He began to harangue her.  "I can't touch you here, Amanda!  Come on-don't you want me to kiss you?  I want to make love to you-now-but we can't do it in here!  Get up!"</div> <div> She got up.  She could see a little but the light was so bright, it was almost blinding.  She kept her hands over her eyes, opening her fingers just a little so that she could stumble after him.  At the mouth of the cave, he turned and pulled her into his arms, pulling her to close to him.  "Amanda, we're free!" he exclaimed, laughing wildly with delight.</div> <div> She couldn't believe it.  She opened her eyes and peeked.  The light wasn't blinding anymore, and all she could see was his dirty face, streaked with sweat, the blue eyes shining brilliantly at her.  "Oh, Quentin!" she cried, reaching for his face to touch him.  He bent to kiss her then, and she felt warmth flooding her body, replacing the cold chill of the pits of hell.  She felt a fiery sensation beginning in her lips, spreading outward and downward.  Her arms went around his neck as she returned his kiss, opening her mouth to him.  He lifted her up and carried her out into the sunshine.</div> <div> "Where do you think you are going?"</div> <div> At the sound of that despised voice, Amanda grabbed Quentin around the neck tighter, pressing her face into his shoulder.  She didn't want to see Mr. Best.</div> <div> "We're free-we got through without touching," Quentin informed him.</div> <div> "Ah, but I'm afraid you did touch briefly-as the beautiful lady was falling.  Your fingertips brushed each other," Best said regretfully.</div> <div> "If they did it was entirely an accident-and not intentional!"  Quentin argued.</div> <div> "Well, I'm afraid rules are rules," Best sighed.  He half turned away, as if someone had tapped him on the shoulder.  "Excuse me a moment, please." He cocked his head, as if listening.</div> <div> What the hell? Quentin wondered.  He demanded: "Well, where in the rules does it say you're allowed to cheat?" Quentin demanded.  </div> <div> Best turned back, looking extremely annoyed.  "I told you there would be traps."</div> <div> "Traps, yes.  But lies?"</div> <div> "Ah, yes.  Well, a lie is a sort of a trap, isn't it?"</div> <div> "It's not fair!" Quentin protested.  "We would have gotten out fine if you hadn't resorted to that.  You couldn't bear to lose, could you?  So you had to resort to that-well, I won't let you take her!"</div> <div> "Is that so?" Best said mockingly.  "Do you really suppose you can stop me?"</div> <div> "I'll die trying!" Quentin said adamantly.</div> <div> Best shook his head, whistling in admiration.  "I do so adore young people in love.  Especially when the young men are so devoted-as you are.  I really believe you would be willing to die trying.  I almost envy you two."  He smiled, but it wasn't a thoroughly pleasant smile.  "I have said before that I am a soft touch for lovers.  In addition, another appeal has been made on your behalf and so I am going to let you go."  </div> <div> At these words, Amanda looked up hopefully and Quentin smiled.  Best laughed again.  "Don't think that this is such a wondrous gift, children.  You'll be together for eternity-maybe.  Perhaps you'll be in heaven; perhaps you will see, after all, you have been consigned to hell.  It's been taken out of <I>my </I>hands."</div> <div> The words had a sinister sound to them, but Quentin felt too triumphant to really pay attention. "We're free," he said to Amanda, bending to kiss her again.  He didn't care that Best was watching them.  He was filled with a sense of power and, with that came strong feelings of lust and desire for Amanda.  Apparently, she felt the same way kissing him deeply, running her hands inside his soaked shirt.  After a moment, he stopped her.  "We have all the time in the world.  Let's go find Julia now."</div> <div> Her mouth curved into a sensuous smile.  "Yes, we have all the time in the world, my dear."  Quentin put his arm around her and led her away, back toward Professor Osmund's house.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id110.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: A Complex Puzzle"><U>2:  A Complex Puzzle</U></A>  <A HREF="id112.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Secrets Revealed"><U>4:  Secrets Revealed</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> </td> </tr></table></body>