THE CURSE OF DARK SHADOWS
Round Four, Part OneHolding onto a stall-gate for support, Fox found the strength to haul himself toward the stable entrance. The shrouded moon offered little light, and as his hazel eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could clearly make out Alex being carried by Cristoff!
"Alex!" he shouted. Forgetting his headache, Fox hurried toward his lover. "What happened?"
"He took a nasty fall from his horse," Cristoff answered silkily. "I just happened to be on that part of the grounds when I saw it happen."
Alex stirred and held a hand to his dazed head. Finding himself in another man's arms, he jumped and Cristoff gently sat him down.
"What the hell happened?" Alex asked, aloud. "Did a truck run me down?"
"Cristoff says you took a fall from your horse," Mulder told him, eyeing Cristoff carefully.
Cristoff merely nodded. "Yes, you did. Poor Quentin became spooked."
"By what?"
"Spooked?" Alex repeated, half to himself. At the very back of his mind he could see a beautiful blonde woman draped in white, like a forgotten dream.
Mulder took Alex aside, feeling somewhat uneasy in Cristoff's presence. "Alex, I don't understand any of this. Something strange happened to me after you left."
Alex sighed heavily, sensing a familiar Mulder conspiracy theory at work. "What do you think my falling off a horse means?"
"Why should it mean anything?" Mulder was taken aback by Alex's cavalier attitude. "We both know something is happening here. Something that has no explanation."
High above, thunder rumbled and a storm began to form.
~*~*~*~*~
Angélique's spirit drifted through the eerie darkness between worlds. Anger had forced her to make a pact with the insolent Cristoff. How dare he defy her after she'd given him the gift of eternal life.
Floating between the ash-colored columns, she moved with determination through the sulphurous mist. In the distance she could hear cries of torment. Plumes of sparkling fire appeared all around.
Her journey ended before an immense figure draped in black. An elongated hood hid any trace of the evil figure's features.
Angélique bowed her head in supplication. "Great Diablos, I seek your help," she whispered.
"Angélique," his voice boomed. "You have served me well in the past."
"I must return to the land of the living to complete my curse," she said.
Diablos crossed his cloaked arms, regarding her as a plaything. "If I do this, what will you give me in return?"
At this, Angélique looked up. "The soul of an innocent who dares to stand between me and the one I love."
A cracking bellow of thunder resounded off the Netherworld chamber. Angélique's use of the word 'love' being forbidden.
"NO!" Diablos cried, pointing a finger at the ghostly witch. "If you return as a mortal, it must be to fulfill the curse, nothing more."
"Yes, I understand."
"If you have not succeeded, you will take the innocent's place here."
"There is another who might prevent my plans," Angélique quickly interjected. "I must have my powers when I return. It is the only way I can propogate the curse."
After a long silence, Diablos spoke. "Agreed."
Angélique bowed once more and her spirit began to fade. She smiled a secret smile. She would defy him anyway...
~*~*~*~*~
Opening the great oak doors, Mulder helped Alex into the foyer. Cristoff followed close behind, keeping a close watch on the pair. Hearing the commotion, Virginia rushed in from the drawing room.
"Could you get Alex something warm to drink?" Mulder asked.
"Fox, I said I was fine," Alex replied.
Virginia was at his side in an instant. "What happened?" she demanded. Mulder noted that she aimed her accusutory tone at Cristoff.
"He took a fall while exploring the eastern part of the estate," Cristoff told her.
Mulder looked from one to the other. It was almost as if Virginia and Cristoff were playing a verbal tennis match. He decided to pursue this line of thought for later. Holding tight to Alex's firm waist, he headed upstairs.
"Come on, what you need is a hot bath and plenty of rest."
"Yes, nurse."
As the two lovers ascended the great staircase, Virginia shot a look full of daggers at the smirking Cristoff.
~*~*~*~*~
A short time later, both Mulder and Alex sat inside a large tub filled with steamy water. Alex sat with his back to Fox, who gently scrubbed his body with a sponge.
"Who would have thought a picnic could turn into such a disaster?" Alex said, closing his eyes as Fox's hands kneaded his back muscles.
"Oh, I wouldn't call it a complete disaster," Mulder replied, remembering their passionate lovemaking. He paused in his ministrations at a strange bruise on Alex's neck. "How did you get this?" he wondered.
Some hidden instinct forced Alex to shy away from Mulder's question. "From the fall," he told him, although he couldn't quite remember tumbling from the horse. Alex glanced back at the quizzical look on Fox's gorgeous face. "Stop worrying, it's nothing. This house is really starting to get to you."
"I think you're right," he said, slowly. "Alex, I saw a ghost."
"You saw a what?" Alex turned round in the tub causing the warm water to splash over the sides.
"The ghost of Danielle Collins to be precise," Mulder continued. "She lead me to a closed off section of the house. It's funny because she looked exactly like Scully."
Alex reached forward and pulled Mulder in close until their noses touched. "Baby, are you sure you weren't dreaming?"
"Of course not!" he protested. "It's just that ever since you showed me Jamison's portrait, I haven't been able to get him out of my mind. It's almost as if we're connected in some way."
"The only connection I want you to make is with me," Alex said, dreamily.
Distracted by his thoughts, Mulder pulled away. "But what if I am his reincarnation?"
~*~*~*~*~
With hurricane like force, the storm wind whipped about the walls of the great house. Inside the room that he and his lover now shared, Mulder was curled up next to the roaring fireplace. From his position he watch Alex sleep in the enormous canopy bed.
In his hands laid the journal of Spencer Collins, and in his lap the Collins family history book. The answers he needed to solve the myteries of Collinwood were inside these tomes. The spirit of Danielle Collins had led him to the journal for a reason. With pencil and notepad in hand, Mulder began to read.
Opening the fragile cover, Mulder began to read by the flickering firelight.
May 21st, 1797 'How much longer must I hide my feelings? The moment I laid eyes on Jamison duPrés I fell in love.'
June 10th, 1797 'Angélique came to my room today, professing her love. It made me heartsick to turn her down. She is a lovely girl, but I cannot love her. My heart belongs to another.'
June 11th, 1797 'Last night I survived a terrible experience. For no reason I began to choke. Mother called Doctor Reeves and he could not fathom the source of my ifliction. All were greatly distressed, even poor Angélique. I feel that it was Jamison's love that saved me, for he never left my side once.'
June 15th, 1797 'What a wonderous day! I spirited Jamison away to spend time alone together at the seaside. His laughter fills my soul with joy.'
June 17th, 1797 'I confided in Danielle that I'm going to ask Jamison to stay with me. I cannot bear the thought of him returning to Martinique. She is happy for the love I have found, and distressed by several odd happenings.'
June 18th, 1797 'I can barely write. My dear sister has taken ill. Her malady is as mysterious as mine. God help me. What must I do?'
June 20th, 1797 'I am a man lost to himself. Danielle is well, but I had to take drastic actions to save her. Angélique came to me two nights ago, promising to heal my sister for a price. She showed me a mixture of special herbs. For a moment, Danielle's condition became better. I agreed to Angélique's price, but now I have broken Jamison's heart by taking her as my bride. Only she and father remain happy.'
June 22nd, 1797 'The young governess has been arrested for practicising witchcraft! Both Jamison and Danielle are determined to testify on her behalf, against my father's wishes.'
June 23rd, 1797 'Danielle came to me with a tale so fantastic that I can barely write. She believes my wife to be responsible for the strange occurrences at Collinwood. My dear sister claims I have been bewitched.'
Mulder stared ahead after reading the final entry. Putting the journal aside, he lifted the heavy history book and searched for the events of 1797. Two days after the last inscription, Danielle Collins died under mysterious circumstances.
He flipped back and found the entry for Jamison duPrés:
André duPrés and his son Jamison arrived from the West Indian island of Martinique in the summer of 1797. During a business excursion between themselves and the Collins family, young Spencer Collins fell in love with Jamison, a man he described as delicate and warm as the trade winds. He was quite taken with Jamison's beauty, and his feelings were equally tender. They became lovers and vowed to always be together. Walter Collins, Spencer's father, disapproved of the relationship. To appease him, Spencer married the maidservant Angélique Bouchard. However, Spencer and Jamison's love could not be broken. Until Jamison's untimely death shattered their dreams. In a tragic accident, Jamison duPrés fell from the cliff at Widows' Hill, just a few hundred yards from the Great House. Spencer grieved himself to death, claiming that Jamison would haunt his heart forever.
Glancing up, Mulder wiped at the tears flowing down his cheeks. He was deeply puzzled that there was no mention of Angélique's fate. This struck him as odd for a lady who seemed to be revered enough to have a portrait hanging in drawing room downstairs.
He looked down at his notepad, surprised to find that he'd unconsciously doodled the name Jamison over and over again.
Across the room, Alex tossed restlessly. Sighing faintly, he clutched at the sheets. In his dreaming mind an image began to form. He saw a beautiful young woman, rivulets of golden hair framing her face, wearing an eighteenth-century gown. Illuminated in an eerie light, she approached him from the darkness, calling...
'Spencer, can you hear me? Spencer? I must see you and tell you what the future holds. We will be together again. You think you can escape me, but you're wrong. The curse will return...'
Alex awoke and sat up in bed with a start.
A flash of lightning illuminated the windows, and Mulder jumped as a loud knock resounded from downstairs.
~*~*~*~*~
Mulder was surprised at how quickly Alex threw back the sheets and slid into a dressing gown. He actually had to keep time with him as he hurried downstairs to answer the door.
The woman who stood framed in the doorway was simply beautiful. Her petite figure was clothed in a forest green coat. Short, raven hair framed her smiling face. Her eyes... Her eyes were the most stunning shade of blue he'd even seen.
There was something about them that seemed... familiar.
"Thank goodness," she cried. "I didn't know if anyone lived here."
"Come in," Alex offered, standing back.
"Thank you," she said.
"Where were you headed?" Mulder asked, finding his voice.
"Oh, I was on my way to Rockport when my blasted car broke down," she told him. "Where are my manners? I'm Cassandra Blair."
Alex smiled warmly, and Fox felt an irrational jolt of jealousy. "Cassandra, I'm Alex, and this is..."
"Mulder," Mulder answered for him.
"It was very dangerous to take a trip on a night like this," Alex said, leading Cassandra inside the drawing room.
"Don't worry about me, I'm a fighter. I wouldn't be here if I weren't."
~*~*~*~*~
"What a beautiful room!" Cassandra twirled around, taking in the antique furniture, the portraits of Collins ancestors. Alex had left to fix her a warm drink.
Mulder eyed her warily. Something about her tone... "You've never been here before?" he ventured.
She looked at him, surprised. "Why no, Mr. Mulder. How could I?" Turning, she ran her hands along the back of a chaise lounge. "You know, I've always dreamed of living in a house like this."
"Here you are," Alex called, walking back into the drawing room with a hot cup of coffee.
At that precise moment, Mulder gasped and his hand went to his mouth. The portrait of Angélique!
"Fox, what is it?" Alex asked.
Taking hold of his arm, Mulder ushered him out of the room. He looked back at a perplexed Cassandra. "If you'll excuse us a moment?"
Alone in the drawing room, Cassandra moved past the grand piano as lightning flashed outside. She paused before the portrait of Angélique Collins. Running a hand through her hair, she stood frozen. Then, a small laugh escaped her lips...
~*~*~*~*~
"Mulder, what's the matter with you?" Alex demanded once they were out in the foyer.
"Have you noticed the resemblance?"
"What do you mean?"
Mulder took a deep breath. "Cassandra looks exactly like the woman in the portrait."
"Angélique?" he guessed. "Angélique Collins would be nearly 200 years old!"
"She is Angélique!" he cried. "Oh, I know her hair is different, but..."
"Fox..." Alex started to protest, but Mulder quickly continued.
"Listen, I believe that Angélique may have come back as a ghost."
"But Cassandra is flesh and blood."
"I'm not wrong! And unless we do something, someone will die!"
"Fox..."
"I know it!"
"Who?"
Mulder chewed on his bottom lip. "The only person that Angélique cared for was Spencer Collins..."
Alex exhaled. "Spencer Collins died in the 1700's. Fox, the only people here at Collinwood are you, me, Ginny, Cristoff and Cassandra."
"Then why did she come back?" Mulder asked, pointedly. "The only reason she could have come back is to..."
"What?" Alex folded his arms across his chest.
"To settle some kind of a score. But why? I don't understand it, why?"
Alex wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Fox, the legends about this old place are really getting to you. Why don't you get a breath of fresh air?"
~*~*~*~*~
Dana Scully surveyed the foggy, wet streets of Collinsport with a mixture of skeptisism and trepidation. Call it woman's intuition, but after reading up on the history of this fishing village she had a distinct 'bad feeling' that Mulder needed her help. It didn't aid her conscious that his cell phone remained persistently off.
Booking the first flight to Maine, Scully had arrived in Bangor where she quickly rented a car. The fifty mile drive to Collinsport had not been easy, due to a sudden storm. She didn't find anything unnatural about it. This near the coast, storms could materialize out of nowhere. She remembered her father telling her of several he'd been caught offguard in.
Driving around the deserted streets, Dana sighed wearily. In a way she was frustrated with herself for jumping the gun and come chasing after her partner. Sure, she could clearly see the allure Collinsport's legends held for him. What irriated her the most was that he'd dropped everything just to come up here for no reason.
She sincerely hoped he was alright, because she couldn't wait to scold him good for this one! Finally, lights appeared in the distance. For a moment, she was beginning to believe this was a ghost town.
Pulling into a parking lot beside a wharf. Dana stepped out and locked the car door. Ahead of her shone the glowing lights of a pub called The Blue Whale...
~*~*~*~*~
Opening an elaborate set of glass doors, Mulder stepped out of a side entrance and onto a patio. Thankfully, the storm had subsided. Nearby, he could hear the roaring of the sea.
Why wouldn't Alex listen to him? Surely they had overcome any past obstacles to get where they were. After all the years of antagonism, he truly loved that man with all his heart.
He knew in his gut that there was a connection between Cassandra Blair and Angélique Collins... just like the shock of seeing his own likeness in the portrait of Jamison duPrés.
Mulder wrapped his arms around his body to keep warm against the icy wind. Something floated by, just on the edge of his hearing. A low, desperate moaning. Of course, the Widows. He remembered the legend well. About the wives of fishermen who walked the cliffs of Widows' Hill, mourning their lost loves.
Walking down a flight of stone steps, Mulder wandered away from the great house. Maybe all he needed was a breath of fresh sea air. Anything to clear his head. Alex insisted that the legends of Collinwood were getting to him. Could he be right? Just because Cassandra looked like Angélique's portrait, did it mean she was the same woman? Any more than he could be Jamison?
On the edge of the misty forest, the spirit of Danielle Collins clutched her hands together, watching worriedly...
~*~*~*~*~
Cassandra pulled back the silk curtains and stared down at the forlorn figure heading out toward the rocky cliff. A wicked smile passed over her beautiful face. Opening the window, a breeze filled the room.
She stared ahead, her arctic blue eyes glowing in the darkness.
"The time has come," she whispered. "Your fate was sealed almost two hundred years ago. You cannot alter your destiny. There can never be any escape from me. For the curse will find you and fall upon you."
Leaning forward, her eyes concentrated on Mulder. "Let the curse begin this night. Carried by the wind until it finds its way to the image of one you loved so long ago."
~*~*~*~*~
A few feet from the edge, Mulder peered deeply into the waves crashing against the jagged rocks. Something about this spot seemed so familiar. He couldn't shake the odd feeling of deja vu no matter how hard he tried. All these years he'd been drawn to Collinwood. Perhaps there was a deeper meaning after all...
"Weren't thinking of jumping, were you?" a voice asked.
Mulder whirled round to find Cristoff approaching from the shadows. "Cristoff, you scared the life out of me!" he exclaimed.
"Did I? I'm sorry." The strange, tall man moved in close to Mulder.
"Why did you think I might jump?" Mulder asked him, curiously.
Cristoff shrugged. "Well, you wouldn't be the first. That young woman worries you, doesn't she?"
"I can't help it," Mulder said, not knowing why on earth he should be confiding in this man. Then, he looked at him with suspicion. "What a minute! How did you know about her?"
"Look at me," Cristoff insisted.
Somehow, Mulder could not resist the deep, commanding voice. He turned, and found a pair of eyes blazing intently into him.
"I can make all of your worries and doubts fade away," Cristoff told him. "Is that what you want?"
"Yes," Mulder heard himself saying.
Cristoff opened his arms. "Come to me, now."
Uncontrollably, Mulder moved toward him. Why was he doing this? Soon, he felt the other man's arms around his body. Mulder went completely limp against his touch. Licking his lips at the exposed, tender neck, Cristoff leaned in and placed his mouth against it. In the process, he pulled Mulder's shirt down over his shoulder.
Softly, Mulder moaned. He closed his eyes and imagined that the Russian beauty he'd fallen in love with was lightly kissing his neck, knowing full well what a hot spot it was.
In an instant, a flash of light filled his mind. He could see himself and Alex standing on this very cliff... but they were dressed so differently... in period costumes....
Suddenly Cristoff's fangs sank down. Gasping with pain, Mulder remained still in his arms. Holding him to his body, Cristoff sucked and began to drink the precious fluid. Blood ran out beneath his lips, forming a little river down Mulder's shoulder.
Mulder's face scrunched up, and he mouthed 'Oh God' while his hands clawed at Cristoff's back. Slowly, he fell backwards to the ground. With Cristoff lying on top still drinking, Mulder stared up into the velvet night sky, a tear in the corner of his right eye. Then his eyes drifted shut and his head sank to the side...
Demi's next!