Rose Cottage

Eleanor, Amy, and Trina Collins, along with Carolyn Loomis sat in the library waiting for word from the police. There were search parties out looking for young Damien, joined by Alex and Willie.

By the time Sheriff Drew had arrived, he had already started his men and some state troopers canvassing the neighborhoods. Eleanor had suggested that Sheriff Drew also question the Murdochs, which he already had planned on doing.

Mrs. Hammond and the maids had been searching the house. Damien had a few hiding places she knew about.

As they waited, Amy blustered. “If anything has happened to that boy…”

Eleanor didn’t speak. She just sat in numbed silence. Carolyn took charge for her and kept things moving. Though it was still the middle of the night, the entire household was awake.

Carolyn insisted that Eleanor come to the study and rest. Amy looked at Carolyn as if it were a horrible thing to suggest, that someone rest while Damien was out somewhere in the cold.

Carolyn ignored her. Eleanor complied and went with her friend. Carolyn knew that Eleanor would not rest, but at least she’d get rest from Amy’s dramatics.

Collinsport Inn

Sheriff Randall Drew knocked on the door to the room where the Murdochs were staying.

Presently, a very lovely young blonde woman answered the door. She was fully dressed, which the Sheriff noted as odd, due to the late hour. Behind the woman stood an elderly gentleman of swarthy complexion, also fully dressed.

“Yes?” the woman asked.

“Mrs. Collins?” Randall guessed.

“Yes,” the woman replied.

“I am Sheriff Randall Drew. May I come in?”

The woman looked concerned. “Of course, Sheriff. Is something wrong?”

After he entered, he stuck out his hand to the old man and said, “You must be Raymond Murdoch.”

The old gentleman shook hands with the policeman and nodded affirmatively.

“Tell us why you’re here, Sheriff,” the old attorney insisted.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Randall informed them.

“What is it?” Mrs. Collins asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid that your son, Damien, is missing,” Drew said cautiously.

“Missing!” Laura Collins exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“His aunt Eleanor went into his room to check on him and he was gone. They have searched the house and cannot find him.”

“And you have come here to find out if he is with us?” the old gentleman interrogated.

“If you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you?” Randall asked.

“Of course, Sheriff,” Murdoch replied. “In fact, I’d want to search the whole suite. And as the boy’s great-grandfather, if it had been me that had lost him from here and you were searching Rose Cottage for him, I’d want you to search thoroughly.”

“I appreciate your understanding, sir,” Randall said.

He looked in the two or three adjoining rooms and saw nothing that would indicate to him that the boy had been there.

When he returned to the main room, Laura came forward to him and pleaded, “Sheriff, now that you’ve satisfied yourself that he’s not here, I want you to get out there and find him.”

She began to cry convincingly.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Collins,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“How can I help, Sheriff?” the old gentleman offered.

“We have search parties all over the area. I’d prefer it if you both just wait here by the phone. You will be called the moment we find him.”

Laura touched his arm. It seemed to shock him a moment, as if a small hot spark had issued from her fingers. He ignored it.

She said to him, “I will be waiting. Please hurry.”

He thanked them, convinced they did not have the boy, but wondering why he felt uneasy with them the entire time he had been in their presence.

After they closed the door, they looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and alarm.

“You stay here,” Murdoch said to Laura.

He reached in the closet for an overcoat and left.

Collinsport Beach

Alex walked along the beach with a propane lantern held high, with a couple of men from the Rose Cottage staff along side him. He carried with him a cellular phone so he could get word if anyone found his son.

From the beach, looking up the hills he could see other lights of men searching. Despite the late hour, lights were on in houses along the beach and in the village. All of Collinsport was awake to look for his son.

Down the beach he could see another light coming towards him. After a few minutes, the two parties were in sight of each other. Alex recognized his distant cousin and business rival, David Collins, accompanied by the butler Hanscomb and handyman Harry Johnson.

“David?” Alex questioned.

“Cousin Alex,” David greeted. “I heard about Damien and decided to volunteer for a search party.

Alex hid his emotions. He was touched by this display of Collins solidarity. He and David rarely talked about anything but business, as they had at the recent reception at Collinwood for Barnabas and Quentin Collins. Such talk had always been competitive. As boys, they had not had much in common. Roger and Ambrose Collins never got along. Now, being joined by David in the search for Damien, Alex was grateful.

“Thank you,” he choked out in a husky voice.

“Alex,” David said, “I have an idea about a place to look, but I think we should send our companions on to continue in our assigned areas.”

“OK,” Alex agreed.

Both men nodded to their helpers, who continued as they had been going.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Alex said.

David said, “Do you remember when we were boys, I was lost for a couple of days?”

“Yes,” Alex recalled. “My father had joined the search parties then.”

“Do you know where I was?” David asked.

“No. They just told us you showed up again.”

“Well, come on,” David said. “I’ll show you.”

David led him up a rocky hill along a path that switch-backed up to a crest and a grassy, wooded area beyond. The place was known as Eagle Hill and atop it was a cemetery.

“You are taking me to Eagle Hill Cemetery?” Alex queried.

“Yes,” David said. “I know a place there where I used to hide. Damien, I hear, is quite a bit like I was. You remember my reputation?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, my father said you were a little sneak and always getting into places you didn’t belong.”

“I hear Damien is like that?” David said, ignoring the annoyance of old Ambrose Collins’ opinionated gossip about Collinwood Collinses.

Occasionally one or the other would call Damien’s name. Near the top, Alex turned and looked back down at the village below. He looked at the wharf, the beach, the streets full of shops, and the houses. Nestled close to the hills was his home, Rose Cottage. He whispered a silent prayer that his son was even then entering the house through one of his secret entrances instead of being out here on this cold and windy night. He checked his cell phone to make sure it was still on and decided not to call Amy, knowing that by ringing the phone at the house, he’d stir everyone up. “Better to wait till I have some news,” he thought.

“You coming?” David said from several yards ahead on the trail.

Alex nodded.

Collinwood Cottage

Clive and Ramona Broman sat at their small table with the ben-ben in front of them. They had received word that Damien was missing, along with the painting of his mother.

After Ramona had suggested to Clive that he join the search parties, he had said, “We will search for him in our own way.”

He had built a fire in the fireplace. Now they sat facing the fire at the table, with the ben-ben positioned so that Ramona could look at the ben-ben and see it as if it were in the blaze itself.

He whispered words to her in an ancient tongue that he urged her to repeat.

As she whispered the words, ancient Egyptian with a Philly accent that was a sincere mocking of her husband’s English accent, the ben-ben became translucent, as if she could see through it into the fire.

“Now,” Clive was saying softly, “Concentrate on Damien Collins.”

“But I’ve never met him,” she protested.

“Do your best to just think about the name and his family and tell me what you see,” he instructed.

She stared more intently into the object and saw fiery images swirling around, so fast that she couldn’t distinguish what they were.

“It moves too fast,” she said desperately.

“Move your consciousness into the fire, my dear,” the professor urged her.

Her eyes opened wide and she felt her mind drawn into the tiny inferno raging inside the object. Soon, she was standing engulfed in flames but felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surged through her.

She wasn’t sure where she was, but it was vast. Columns and stones were arranged like an ancient Egyptian temple, but flames licked around everything.

Suddenly, she heard a voice, a woman’s desperate cry calling out, “Damien! Damien! Where are you?”

Through a pair of pillars, some distance away, she saw a brightly clothed woman with golden hair running from place to place in this hellish place, calling for Damien. She immediately surmised it was Laura, the phoenix.

Suddenly, the woman turned and came in her direction. Fear took hold of Ramona and she felt herself whipped backwards out of the strange dream and back to the table where she sat gazing at the ben-ben. Inside it, the face of Laura Collins moved near to the surface and looked as if it were peering out, searching.

“She’s looking for me, now,” Ramona gasped.

“Look away, my dear, before she sees you,” Clive shouted.

Ramona tried, but could not avert her eyes. Clive stood and shook her until she looked away.

“Did your eyes meet hers?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t think so,” she said, gasping for air. “What happened to me?”

“You were in the phoenix temple. The ben-ben took you there. Tell me what you saw.”

Ramona sighed. “I saw her in there, searching for Damien…”

“Then she doesn’t know where he is!” Clive exclaimed. “We must inform the others.”

“Why did I see her face there looking for me?” Ramona asked.

“She probably sensed someone watching her and was trying to figure out who it was. She knows someone has used the ben-ben but she doesn’t yet know who.”

“How did she get in there?” Ramona demanded.

“Through fire,” he answered. “The ben-ben amplifies the power, but the real source is the fire. You are stronger than she is right now, my dear, because you have the ben-ben.”

Rose Cottage

“Thank you, Professor Broman,” Eleanor said before she hung up the phone.

To Carolyn, who was waiting with her in her study, she said, “Professor Broman says they are fairly certain that the Murdochs do not have Damien.”

“How can they possibly know that?” Carolyn said.

“I don’t know, but I trust him,” Eleanor replied.

The door burst open and Amy came in. “Who was on the phone?” she demanded.

“It was just someone calling to see if they could help, Amy. No news. Sorry,” Carolyn placated her.

“Oh, I see,” Amy said dejectedly. “Trina has gone to bed and so has Mrs. Hammond and the staff. They scoured the whole house and couldn’t find him.”

“I just feel so helpless, sitting here like this,” Carolyn said.

“But what else can we do?” Eleanor asked rhetorically.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

David and Alex held their lanterns high as they maneuvered past gravestones and gnarled shrubbery.

“Where are we going, David?” Alex asked.

“To the Collins Mausoleum,” David told him.

“Why would Damien go there?”

“Because…”

David’s sentence was cut off as he jumped with a start at the sight of someone a few yards away in the dark.

“Who are you?” David insisted.

“Chris Jennings,” the man announced as he moved forward into the influence of the lanterns.

“Chris,” David sighed his relief. “What are you doing out here?”

“Barnabas asked me to check the cemetery for young Damien,” Chris said.

“Chris,” Alex said coming forward, “I’m your brother-in-law, Alex.”

Chris looked surprised. “Good to finally meet you, Alex. Sorry I didn’t come down and introduce myself before this.”

“No problem, Chris,” Alex explained. “Amy told me about your problems with amnesia.”

“You haven’t seen any sign of Damien, then?” David asked Chris.

“No, sorry,” Chris answered.

“Would you have known him if you had? And why look here?” Alex asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Chris admitted, “I have met Damien before, right up here while I was paying my respects to some of my dear departed. He seems to like this place a lot.”

Alex felt encouraged about the chances of David being right about where Damien was.

“Why are the two of you looking up here?” Chris queried.

David explained, “I know a hiding place here that Damien might also know about, a place I once hid.”

Chris did not register any interest in what David was saying, though secretly he was nervous.

“Are you with us?” Alex asked.

“Sure,” Chris volunteered reluctantly.

Chris grew more nervous as he realized that they were heading for the mausoleum. Once there, David opened the grating and remarked that there had once been a lock there, but that some vandals had destroyed it.

Inside, the two other men stood while David reached up into the lion’s mouth and pulled the ring. The door swung open.

The three men went inside. There was no sign of Damien and Alex sat down in disappointment.

“This is odd,” David said.

“How so?” Chris asked.

“The place is clean,” David observed.

“It’s empty,” Chris pointed out.

“Yes, but it should be dusty and dank,” David posited. “Instead, it’s swept clean like someone has used it recently and then cleaned it out.”

“Who else would know about it?” Chris asked.

“I always thought it was a big secret and that I was one of the few that knew,” David said. “I’m obviously wrong. I’m definitely going to have that lock replaced and hire someone to keep an eye on this place.”

“I’ve got to get back out searching,” Alex declared dejectedly.

“Come on, David,” Chris said. “Let’s keep looking for Damien.”

“I thought for sure he’d be in here,” David said.

Evans Cottage

Maggie paced back and forth across the small studio floor. Earlier, a state trooper had knocked on their door and asked if they had seen Damien Collins. Joe had gone with the officer to join the search parties, leaving Maggie alone to worry. She was not only worried about Damien, but about Joe, still nervous about him being out of her sight.

Her first impression had been to go with them and join a search party. Why not? Being a woman shouldn’t have precluded her from helping. Also, if the boy were found injured, she could be on-hand to help.

Joe had insisted she stay at the cottage. The White Lady legend and the stories of missing people made him scared for her safety and he didn’t want her out at night. Of course, that was precisely why she didn’t want him out at night.

Before she had gone to bed earlier, she had made a resolution to clean out the storage room where some of her father’s old paintings had been stored. She intended to sell anything that was completed, not that she needed the money. She had thought to herself that her Pop would be tickled to have someone buy his work, living or dead. He painted them for that very reason. After he died, she wanted to keep them forever, but more and more came to feel that he would’ve wanted them sold. She was just proud enough of her father’s work to want to share it.

She decided it would be a good distraction while she waited for Joe and it was certainly better than pacing.

She went to where her father had always kept the key hanging by the stove in the kitchen. When she saw it wasn’t there, she remembered that she had taken it from there when she rented the cottage out, having locked the little storage room so that the tenants would not get into it.

It had to be somewhere in her purse. She hoped it wasn’t back at Windcliffe in her desk.

She rummaged through the handbag and eventually found it.

Unlocking the door, she started pulling out the paintings and sorting them. Most were finished, but many were mere sketches. Sam Evans’ work had not become famous, but there were still collectors out there who remembered him. The unfinished ones she set in a pile to put back into the closet, while the saleable ones she kept stacked upright in a corner.

As she lifted a landscape out of the closet, the wire attached to the back of the frame caught on the next painting, which caused the second painting to come tumbling out, end over end. It was a painting she had forgotten about, Laura Collins with wings, engulfed in flames. It had been one he had worked obsessively over. This one was not the final product. That he had given to the Collins family at Collinwood. This was one he was dissatisfied with.

Maggie thought about the significance of this painting, now knowing what she knew about phoenixes and such. She remembered some of the things Julia told her about the phoenix and the phoenix’s purpose. Thirty-some years before, Maggie had first met Laura Collins on the fateful day she returned to Collinwood after having been committed to some sanitarium somewhere. Until recently, she had not realized that the first Laura Collins she had met was the same one she treated at Windcliffe twenty-some years later.

As she thought that, there came a knock to the door. She set the strange portrait down with the other unfinished works and answered the door.

She was shocked to see an anxious Laura Collins standing there at her door.

“Laura!” Maggie exclaimed in surprise.

The beautiful woman apologized, “Dr. Haskell, I know it’s late, but I couldn’t just sit at home by the phone anymore. I’ve asked the hotel to call me here if they receive any news. I don’t want to be alone. Could I come in and talk to you for a while? I know I’m not your patient anymore, but please…”

Maggie concealed her fear. “Of course, Laura. I’m glad you came. I could use some company too.”

“Sheriff Drew hasn’t called, has he?” Laura asked as she entered the cottage.

“No, I’m sorry,” Maggie said sympathetically, closing the door.

“Can I get you some tea?” Maggie offered.

“Yes, please,” Laura accepted.

Maggie went off to the kitchen and made the tea. When she returned with a tray and tea service, Laura was standing looking at the paintings Maggie had set out.

“Oh, Dr. Haskell,” Laura said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. These are beautiful. Are you a collector?”

“No,” Maggie answered. “My father was an artist.”

“I see,” Laura replied.

Maggie wondered what this creature’s real purpose was in coming. Was it possible she was truly distraught? Maggie considered that it was truly distress, but likely because she didn’t know where the boy was and was conducting her own investigation. But why come here?

Laura Collins returned to looking at the paintings. Maggie became nervous when she realized it would only take a glance to the side for Laura to see the painting of herself in her former incarnation.

As a distraction, Maggie said, “Perhaps we should call the sheriff’s office to see if there is any word about Damien.”

Laura wheeled around suddenly and looked directly at Maggie, who suddenly felt a surge of heat go through her body and then extreme dizziness. She steadied herself by placing a hand against the wall.

“Dr. Haskell?” Laura said with concern in her voice.

“I’m all right,” Maggie said. “Probably just a little tired.”

“I should be going,” Laura suggested.

“Oh, no,” Maggie said, feeling a little guilty. “I think I should just sit down. Please, have some tea.”

Laura smiled and sat across from where Maggie sat.

They sipped their tea and remained silent for a few minutes.

Maggie noticed the painting off to the side, almost standing there staring at the two of them. Her father was certainly gifted. The eyes in the painting were just like those fixed on her from across the coffee table.

Slowly, the other woman’s eyes turned to the side where Maggie had caught herself looking and beheld the painting.

“What is this?” she exclaimed. “A portrait of me?”

Maggie stood. “Oh, no,” she said. “That’s a portrait of your aunt that my father started a long time ago.”

The phoenix play-acted, “My grandfather always told me I looked just like her, but I never realized…”

Maggie was surprised at what she offered next. “My father never finished this one. He started over a few times, before he arrived at the one that pleased him, which he gave to your cousin David. If you would like to have this one, I’d be willing to give it to you. Perhaps you could commission someone to finish it.”

“How kind you are, Dr. Haskell,” Laura commended Maggie.

After the tea was consumed, Laura made an excuse about getting back to the inn and left with the painting. Maggie was astonished at how easily she had parted with the painting, despite knowing it could only be ill-advised to give the thing to the phoenix.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Alex, David, and Chris finished searching the cemetery, although they had little hope of finding Damien there.

Alex sat dejectedly on a marble bench and was silent. The two other men sat next to him on either side.

David put his arm around his distant cousin and said, “I’m sure Damien is fine. He’ll be found.”

At the touch of David’s arm on his shoulders, Alex felt a twinge of arousal. He had always found David Collins attractive, but this was hardly the time to be experiencing feelings towards another man. He had already committed to his wife that he was going to put that life behind him, and here his oldest son was frightened and alone somewhere and he was getting turned on by a simple act of compassion. How much he hated himself for that!

David unwisely commented, “First, Chad Jenkins, and now Damien. I wonder if there is a connection.”

Chris was about to chide David for unnecessarily worrying Alex with talk like that when Alex stood suddenly and declared, “You two keep searching. I’ve got to go somewhere.”

Before he could hear their protests, he bounded off into the darkness with his lantern.

The Beach House

Quentin sat next to Angelique, urging her to try harder as she attempted to call upon her former powers of insight to find the boy. She only saw images of Damien, blurred and uncertain.

“It’s no use, Quentin,” she said. “My other powers were taken away from me. I can only summon people under my control now.”

“What else can we do?” Quentin insisted.

As they sat pondering that question, someone outside began to loudly knock at the door.

“Who would be visiting this late at night?” Angelique pondered.

“Probably more searchers,” Quentin postulated.

Again the knocking came, more urgently this time.

Angelique arose and went over and opened the door. It was Alex Collins. He, of course, did not recognize her as Dolores Spicker. She was much younger now than Dolores had been.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I want to see Chad Jenkins,” he demanded.

Quentin came and stood at the door with Angelique.

“Come in, Alex,” he invited. Angelique glared at Quentin.

“Quentin Collins?” Alex looked puzzled.

“Yes, Cousin Alex,” Quentin said reassuringly. “This is…”

“Miranda DuVal,” Angelique interrupted. She stuck out her hand in a very business-like manner.

Alex ignored it and came in uninvited. “Where is Chad?”

Angelique kept her composure. “Chad is sleeping, Mr. Collins,” she informed the intruder.

“Shouldn’t you be out looking for Damien?” Quentin inquired.

Alex declared, “I am looking for Damien and I think Chad might know where he is.”

Angelique’s eyes flashed angrily at Quentin, though Alex had his back to her.

Quentin put his arm around Alex and led him into the front room where he and Angelique had been sitting.

“Miranda,” Quentin said to Angelique. “This is important. Why don’t you go wake Chad up and bring him in here?”

Angelique paused a long moment then decided to comply. She still could overcome them all if anything happened she didn’t like.

While she was gone, Quentin asked Alex, “What makes you think that Chad would know what happened to Damien?”

Alex suddenly felt foolish and a little intimidated by the handsome young Quentin Collins.

“It’s just that the rest of Collinsport thinks that Chad has disappeared and are speculating that Chad’s disappearance is linked to Damien’s. I have to find out for myself.”

“Of course you do,” Quentin said sympathetically.

“What are you doing here, Quentin?” Alex asked.

“Miranda DuVal and I are old friends,” Quentin explained.

“Do you have any idea why Chad is so devoted to her and why he stays here in hiding, not even telling his mother where he is?”

“No idea at all,” Quentin sidestepped.

After a few moments of silence, Quentin offered, “After you talk to Chad, if you don’t mind, I’ll join you in the search.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

The woman returned in a few minutes being trailed by Chad Jenkins. Chad looked nervous and very ill.

“I must insist, Mr. Collins,” Miranda said, “that you ask your questions and then let Chad get back to bed. He’s very ill.”

“Hello, Chad,” Alex said quietly. He glanced around, hoping that the other two people would leave them alone.

“Hi, Alex. Miranda told me about your son. I’m sorry I can’t go out and help you look for him,” Chad said with slow and slurred speech.

“No problem, Chad. I was hoping you could shed some light on his disappearance, since you sort of disappeared the same way.”

“I didn’t disappear. I came here to take a job with Miss DuVal and then I got sick.”

Alex didn’t believe the story, but he didn’t want to grill Chad with a lot of questions unless he felt they would reveal answers relevant to Damien’s disappearance.

“But your mother doesn’t even know where you are?” Alex said incredulously.

“She doesn’t?” Chad feigned surprise.

“No,” Alex said. “The police have been looking for you.”

Chad seemed frightened and looked at Angelique, who said to him, “I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. I was supposed to get a message to your mother and it slipped my mind.”

Turning to Alex, she explained, “Our phone is out of order.”

Alex pulled out the cellular phone he had brought with him and offered, “Please, use mine. At least we can have one less worried mother in Collinsport.”

Chad looked at Angelique, who nodded her head very slightly in assent.

He took the phone from Alex’s hand, briefly letting the flesh in both hands touch each other. Alex wanted to cry. He had sat holding that hand so many times, but now its touch seemed like frozen meat.

Chad dialed his mother’s number and they heard him explaining to his obviously distraught mother about his whereabouts and why he was there, at least the Miranda-approved story. Chad explained to his mother that he had taken a job with Miss DuVal as an agent and bookkeeper. His new employer had insisted on the utmost confidentiality regarding the arrangement and that’s why he hadn’t notified anyone of where he had been. He apologized to his mother for not having called her, but explained that he had a bad case of the flu. After promising to come home for a visit in the next couple of days, he returned the cell phone to Alex.

“Any other questions, Mr. Collins?” the woman asked.

Alex thought carefully.

“No,” he replied.

Chad stumbled back off towards his bed.

Quentin announced, “Well, Miranda. Lovely to see you again. I’m going to join the search party now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, Quentin,” she said. Her eyes flashed a warning which he immediately understood.

“Do you know where I laid my belongings?” Quentin asked with a wry smile.

“I had Chad put them in the drawer over there,” Angelique said, pointing to a desk.

Quentin retrieved his car keys and wallet, then offered Alex a ride. Alex accepted.

Collinsport Inn

Laura Murdoch Collins returned to her suite at Collinsport Inn. Waiting there for her was Raymond Murdoch.

“Where have you been?” he demanded sternly.

“Retrieving this,” she said as she turned the portrait done by Sam Evans towards him.

“Why did you need that?”

“I need this to focus my power. I am looking for something,” she said smiling widely. “IT has been used.”

“The ben-ben?!”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I was searching in the fire for Damien when I felt eyes upon me in the temple. Someone was watching me, so I ran to the temple’s ben-ben and looked into it.”

“What did you see?” he said, and grabbed her arm roughly.

She leaned back in fear. “Only the rough image of a face, a dark face.”

“Her!” he cried out knowingly, releasing Laura’s arm..

“Yes,” she said. “Ramona Herndon. You did not dispose of her as you promised. Now, she knows the secrets of the ben-ben.”

“But how?”

“Either someone has taught her, or she knows who she is,” Laura posited.

“There is only one who can teach her the use of the ben-ben,” Murdoch said.

“He must be nearby,” she speculated. “Do you think he has Damien?”

“No, else why would she be searching with the ben-ben?”

“We must act quickly if we are to find them before they find Damien,” she said hurriedly. “Help me.”

Raymond took the portrait from Laura and stood it on the table against a wall, so that it was at about her height.

She faced the painting and stared into the image’s eyes. A small flame began to flicker in each eye of the painting, as well as in Laura’s own eyes. Soon, the Laura in the painting, dressed in white like an angel, was not only engulfed in painted flames, but also in spirit flames with no heat.

The corporeal Laura, dressed in a modern dress, stood straight and rigid. She reached forward with one finger and touched the hand of the woman in the picture. In an instant, the painting changed to be of modern Laura standing against a plain background while the Laura standing before it was dressed in white and on fire. Her body had been consumed by the painting, but her spirit was the one in the flames.

To the rest of the world, she was no longer visible, but Raymond Murdoch could see her, and he watched as she passed through the wall of the suite and out into the world.

Rose Cottage

In Eleanor’s study, Carolyn and Eleanor sat impatiently in chairs. Occasionally one or the other would doze off, but did not remain asleep long.

Eleanor said, “Thanks for waiting with me, Carolyn.”

“Oh, I just couldn’t leave you right now, El. I keep praying they will find him soon.”

“I do too,” Eleanor said.

“Is it hot in here?” Carolyn asked as she removed her sweater, and hung it on the back of the chair.

“Yes,” Eleanor answered. “I wonder if Mrs. Drummond set the thermostat too high for this room.”

Eleanor looked at the device on the wall and it registered an even 70 degrees, although the thermometer on the device registered 84.

“That’s odd,” Eleanor commented. “It’s cold outside, but it’s much warmer in here than the thermostat is set for.”

The Old House

Barnabas paced back and forth in the Old House drawing room. Julia would be angry at him for being up so late and for pacing so much. He knew he should at least sit down in his easy chair, but he couldn’t bring himself to settle down. His anxiety over the young boy he only recently discovered was his own descendant kept him on his feet, walking back and forth from the window to the mantle.

“I should be out there searching,” he thought to himself. He cursed his old age and weakening legs. The news he had learned in Louisiana that the Rose Cottage Collinses were his own descendants had been working on his mind ever since. To think that he had actually had a child by Angelique and that there were now descendants of the child in the world today was both exciting and poignant to Barnabas Collins, who thought he would never have the pleasure of fatherhood.

It pleased him to think about it, but he felt a sense of loss not having known each and every descendant. Now, his mind was on one particular descendant, the missing little boy, Damien.

He was at the window now, peering out into the darkness, hoping against hope that he would catch a glimpse of a small boy out in the pre-dawn darkness. Nothing.

“Hello, Grandfather,” he heard a small voice from behind him.

Barnabas turned and there before him stood the very boy he pined for.

“Damien!” Barnabas exclaimed with excitement.

The boy stepped back quickly in alarm.

Barnabas realized he had startled the little boy. “I’m sorry to have frightened you, Damien. It’s just that we’ve all been so worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry to have run away, but I had to,” the boy said.

“Why did you call me ‘grandfather’?” Barnabas asked.

Damien paused a moment. “Well, you’re not my grandfather exactly, but you’re back there in my family tree somewhere, aren’t you?”

Barnabas ignored the question, though he was intrigued by how the boy might know such things.

“We should call your Aunt Eleanor,” Barnabas suggested.

“No!” the boy insisted.

“But she is very worried about you,” Barnabas said.

“I can’t go back there. She’s in danger as long as I’m around.”

“What kind of danger?”

“From my mother,” Damien said sheepishly.

“I understand,” Barnabas said, as he slowly put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. This time Damien did not pull away.

“Why did you come here?” Barnabas questioned. “We hardly know each other.”

“Josette told me to come. She said, ‘Go to Grandfather Barnabas,’ and I asked her who that was, so she led me here.”

Barnabas felt his heart race and moved over to his chair to sit down.

“You are my grandfather, aren’t you?” Damien asked.

“Yes, Damien, something like that, only much farther back than a grandfather.”

“I know,” the boy said. “Josette said that I have a grandmother too. Where is she?”

Barnabas tried to wipe away the tears. “She’s gone, Damien. I’m sorry.”

“But,” the boy protested, “Josette said she’s not gone. I’m supposed to help you find her so the two of you can protect me from my mother.”

Barnabas sat forward towards the young boy, who did not retreat. “Josette told you that Angelique is still alive?”

“Yes, and I think she’ll show me where she is,” Damien said. Looking up into the air, he said, “Won’t you, Josette?”

The scent of jasmine filled the room and a chilly breeze wafted through.

“Josette!” Barnabas cried out.

“You wait right here, Damien, and I’ll get my driver and we’ll go find Grandmother Angelique.”

“No!” Damien said. “We must go alone.”

“But Damien,” Barnabas said, “I’m old and I can’t walk that far and I’m a terrible driver.”

“I don’t care. No one else must come!” Damien insisted.