It is evening in Collinsport, and yet another revelation. This time concerning Samantha Evans, the daughter of Maggie Evans, who had at one time been the governess to David Collins – before events, which her mother refused to discuss and even David was reticent to talk about, caused her breakdown and a lengthy stay at Wyncliff Sanitarium. A break that came about soon after she had given birth to Samantha – a breakdown which the young woman had grown up secretly believing was some how her fault – perhaps, just being born. Only now, she has discovered a secret about her mother – but even more importantly the secret withheld from her about her father. A confirmation of an old and scandalous rumor

Several workmen from the cannery had arrived with David earlier in the day, sometime around noon, in order to help carry not only the two steamer trunks but several wooden shipping crates that had markings on them that indicated they had traveled some circuitous route either with him, or in finding their way to her. And then there hade been the monstrosity of the bookcase– a truly hideous piece of furniture — that half taken three burly men to get up the narrow strains from the Blue Whale up in to her loft apartment. In fact, at some point they had had to try and remove a section, which revealed a set of odd notes and drawings apparently hidden way during the bookcases construction.

They lie now along with the papers, folders, and journals that the trunks had borne and spilled out across the floor as she sat looking at them – twenty minutes into examining them and she began to long to have Nikki at her side. She longed for that familiar embrace, the comfort, the security in that she at last did not have to reply solely upon herself – and besides, at least Nikki might have been able to make something out of the odd diagrams and maps and translations.

“You know Sam, This place is far too small for all of this,” David had said looking around the loft – the canvases, the work tables. Sketches, brushes. Tubes of paint, stained palettes, “There is the West Wing at Collinwood – it was Quentin’s . . . Your father’s rooms – perhaps you should . . . Move in there.”

Sam looked at the terrible bookcase, and then glances over at David — “Collinwood?”

“It’s big and mostly deserted; there isn’t much – family left.” He admits. “So, bring all your stuff.” He motioned to the loft’s furnishings, “Or at least come and take a look and see what you might want to keep – it has most of his things still there.”

“Waiting for his return?”

David does not reply for a long moment, hands in his pockets. “Well, at least this is a start – more than I would have expected,” David said indicting the trunks, the papers – but more importantly the journals. “You might want to keep them safe.”

Most of the day, she tried working on a canvas she had started, but the papers drew her away – she would walk over and pick up a journal, start reading and beck e lost for a while— he was even more a rogue than she had imagined. Her father—Quentin Collins

Of all the things he had shipped to her, the odd painting was the most irresistible. A young Victorian lady, at once beautiful and horrifying, beheaded, her head turned upside down, and suspended above the red, raw, bloody gash of her neck and severed spine— She had slipped it behind the bookcase to set it a side, but owing to the construction of the bookcase, it’s central span like a threshold, it was still revealed it as for some reason she refused to turn it so as to face the wall.

And so later than evening, Nikki, Esther and Samantha ascend the narrow, worn wooden steps leading from the kitchen of the Blue Whale to Samantha Evans’ loft. The sound of their footsteps loud as they rise to the top.

Samantha Brook follows behind Esther, looking up nervously at the opening of the landing above, as if there was to be yet another revelation, one that she did not wish to witness once they reached the top. In some ways she was nearly as anxious as Nikki was about this meeting. Nikki, who feels perhaps this ascent back up this well traveled stairs is perhaps too soon – seeing as how she had immediately hasted to Sam’s side to reveal what she had heard, reveal the truth of Sam’s parentage. Not an easy night for either of them – Sam hitting a bottle of wine, Nikki feeling awkward in wanting to reach out, comfort her . . . but finding her hand stayed – stayed by the fact they were of the same blood, cousins. She felt as if she were in a Novel by Nabokov.

Esther in the vanguard reaches the top of the landing, which when gained gives immediately access to Sam Evan’s loft, as she looks around the poorly insulated room and puts her hands in her pockets.

She can hear water running from a faucet somewhere further back into the apartment.

“Sam?” Nikki calls out at the head of the stairs.

The sound of running water stops, “Nik, is that you?” Sam Evans calls out.

“Yes, and I brought some friends also.”

Samantha Brook finds herself closing her eyes a moment—not certain she is ready to meet this woman – to see her and Nikki together.

“Oh, okay.” Sam says and turning the corner sees Esther, “Oh, Esther great to see ya, how have you been?”

Esther shrugs, “Eh. Been shot at. Been held at gunpoint. Had an old acquaintance run off leaving us with a mystery. Not much new, how about you?”

Sam Evans steps over and takes hold of Esther hands, “I am so sorry, Nik has told me so much about it. . . . “

“But I can’t Kvetch.” Esther replies, normally she would be feeling a bit awkward, what with Sam’s closeness, her holding her hands, but she’s known Sam a long time, sat at the bar countless times as she refilled her glass.

“I am more than certain Nikki will get to the bottom of this.” Sam tells her.

“I’m sure.” Esther nods

‘So, here, “Let me take your coat.” She offers as she looks past Esther at the other woman with her and Nikki; she gives Nikki a rather quizzically look.

Samantha Brook feels even more awkward, wondering why, other than perhaps some very perverse masochistic curiosity she has allowed herself to accompany Nikki and Esther up here, to this loft, where they have no doubt been – together. Ss she looks away quickly, thrusting a hand out nervously, “Samantha—Samantha Brook.”

Esther, instead of slipping her coat off pulls it closer, “Thanks, but I’m a bit chilly.”

Sam Evans, hip-shot looks at Samantha Brook, “Samantha? That’s my name,” She smiles, “Well, hey, everyone please take a seat.”

Esther steps over an odd scatter of papers, loose sheets, books, open journals, maps and diagrams on the floor, as if pulled randomly out and tossed about from the two rather large steamer trunks standing open just before the living room, which is set open-aired, within the spacious loft.

Samantha Brook nods and takes a seat near Esther.

“Sorry the place is a mess,” Sam Evans apologizes and looks over to Nikki, “David stopped by and left these trunks and that huge ass bookcase . . . parting gifts you might say.”

Esther glances over toward the “huge ass bookcase, “Yeah . . . my, that is big . . . how’d ya get it up th’ stairs?”

Samantha curls up in her chair and looks at the horrid bookcase and says, “Its lovely.”

“David and some men from the cannery helped get up here – they had to take a piece of it off . . . oh, plus there is also that loathsome painting too.” Sam indicates, waving at the huge piece of furniture and the a rather horrid painting – depicting an Victoria lady, who has been beheaded, her head, held upside down, suspended about the red, raw, bloody, severed neck.

Esther looks at the painting and shudders slightly, “Very . . . gross . . . “

Sam nods, “Isn’t it – horrid don’t you think.” She steps over and perches on the arm of Nikki’s chair.

Esther finds herself staring at the painting for a long moment.

A once habitually seat, so close to Nikki, Sam, leans comfortably back, “So – I figure there is a reason you’re stopping by, Nik.” She says

“So, all these trunks and the bookcase—from Quentin.” Nikki asks feeling the to familiar proximity of Sam next to her

“Oh, do not be coy with me Nicole Collins, I know you better than you know yourself—“ Sam says and looks down at Nikki, “I know why you are here.”

Samantha seeing how intimately Sam Evans sits close to Nikki cannot help but blush.

Esther finally looks away from the painting, “So, did you talk with a man named Cairo? Or was it just David?”

“Actually it was Nikki, she came over to tell me – what 4 am was it.” She looks At Nikki, who nods and gives her look as if to say she was sorry for the timing, “ But yes, David at first, being very, very nervous, and so out of character for him, you know. Take charge, Bruce Wayne, protect the city kind of guy he is . . . but, yes, this Cairo, he showed up later. He is actually a very nice man – or so he seemed, but hey Esther, we both know no one is what that seem – not here in Collinsport.”

Esther nods, “You seem to be taking it well.”

“Well-You know, I am surprised—but then, you know, not really. I mean I have been aware of the whispers about who my father was – hints my mother would sometimes inadvertently drop every now than then, but, I have to admit it was a shock to actually hear it. Especially from David.” She looks down at Nikki, “It would have been nice if you had been here when he arrived, but, light of day and all . . .”

Nikki puts her hand on Sam’s, “I am sorry for that — I should have been here.”

“But you couldn’t and I know why and so sorry to have brought it up.”

Samantha Brook sits now inspecting her knees as if they held some unique fascination for her.

Esther only half hears the conversation as she keeps trying not to look over at the grotesque painting.

Sam, looking up from Nikki, notes Esther’s glances at the painting, “Yes – sorry it is terrible isn’t it. Although it is very well done, the brush strokes are extraordinary.”

“How are you doing Sam?” Nikki asks.

“About as well as expected to find out you are really a Collins – Oh God, Nik, I am a f***ing Collins!” It’s just sinking in – the way people will start looking at me.”

“Well, it, yes, it’s not one the grandest things to find out I would imagine.” Nikki replies.

“I mean Quentin sent all this S**t – I mean what is all this . . . and, then of course, there’s the letter.”

“The letter?”

“Which one?” Samantha suddenly asks looking at the scattered papers on the floor.

“Oh, hell, the detective! Yes Nancy Drew he sent a letter.” Sam says humorously.

Samantha Brook instantly falls silent, as she too wanted to know about “The Letter,” what was she Bess? George?

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry . . . you can’t help it that your Nancy Drew, it’s why I love you.” Sam tells her and looks down at her perched as she is on the arm of Nikki’s chair.

Samantha Brook looks away from them and back down at the scattered papers upon the floor.

“What was the letter about?” Esther asks, aware of the tension between Samantha and Sam.

Samantha curls up somewhat tighter in her chair, “Yes, what did it say?”

“Well – it basically was explaining that he was sorry for not recognizing me as his daughter, said that he felt he had done enough damage to my mother.” Sam begins with a wave of her hand, “He said that he was not of good character and that having people know he was my father would have been generally bad for me growing up. As if he knows anything about my growing up . . .. That, no matter what I may think, he did love me, and that he had had David send him photos of me, which reminds me I really need to tell David off about that.”

Samantha chuckles softly.

“That he was sorry my mother had to spend time in the institution. But in his mind that only re-enforced his belief that I should not know about him – as he felt he helped put her there.” She looks aside for a moment, a brief sadness in her voice, “Which he did.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Samantha makes a wry face.

“You know, s**t and more s**t.” Sam looks down at Nikki beside her, “Okay, I know you are just about to explode, Nancy—so please go ahead and ask!”

“So – why did he decide to tell you?” Nikki asks, “Now. Did he say?”

“Yes – what do you know about Judah Zachery and some guy named Edward Hutchinson?”

Nikki turns quickly, “What?”

“He said I need to know about him, and he needed to send me all this, because I have to be careful because they were coming to Collinsport.”

Samantha pulls out her notepad and begins writing.

“Sam . . . Judah Zachery was beheaded in 1692, and Quentin and My father killed him a second time in 1897.”

“Nik, we know people that have come back from the dead before.” Esther says dead-pan to Nikki.

“Right,’ Sam nods and then turns to look at her, “Yeah your father and my father – oh, my God.” Beginning now to understand why Nikki has been so reticent to touch her, acknowledge that she wants to touch her.

“Well—I was thinking that b*** in London . . .” Esther corrects.

“I know, but – from what I know from the Ghost Society, they are all fairly certain he could not be resurrected again.”

Samantha growls at the word “London”

“Oh, Miss Kaye, yes. Myself even.” Nikki aggress, “But — Judah Zachery.” Nikki looks shocked and dismayed.

“What is it?” Sam asks aware of Nikki’s expression.

“He is the one who cursed the whole family, Sam! Everything that has happened to the Collins’ is from Zachery’s curse in 1692.” If anyone could find a means of resurrection he would most certainly be him.”

“Maybe there should be a Resurrection Society,” Sam laughs.

Samantha Brook keeps writing.

“Sam—this is quite worrisome, I really think you need to move back to the old house.”

Samantha’s pencil lead snaps. She looks up to see if anyone noticed.

“Nikki . . . ” Sam looks down, “We know that can’t happen not now.”

“Samantha . . .” Nikki looks over to her. She smiles and indicates the broken pencil.

“Nikki love, I love you and I can not live in the same house with you and not want to be with you, and –and you so perfectly pointed out – God Nikki we’re cousins!”

Samantha listens intensely.

“And no, we can not be kissin cousins as we have already been that and – God this is so f**ked up.”

Samantha keeps looking at the paper, the notes she was making in her notebook, her jaw firmly clenched shut. Why did she come here?

Esther shakes her head thinking Bah. Whatever. It wasn’t as if they were going to conceive children.

“Sam . . .”

“Whatever it’s incest, Nikki and hell people in this town talk enough as it is . . . “Sam Evans tells her, affecting some deep Maine baritone, “Oh, look, there goes the dyke Collins Cousins.”

“I don’t give a bloody f**k what they think – but . . . “ Nikki doesn’t complete the sentence as she is only hearing her own words said back to her when she told Sam about her father – their being related – which had taken her so by surprise. “Well, I can’t let you stay here alone, not now, not after what you told me.”

“Look Nikki, I live above the Blue Whale, I have people around all the time.”

Samantha bites on the pencil tip savagely to try to sharpen it, perhaps – perhaps to get lead poisoning and not have to listen to this any more.

“Yes, but, you have no idea what these men are, what they can do.” Nikki explains.

Esther sighs, “Well, to be fair, neither do we.”

“You’re really worried?”

“And I think you father was too or he would not have told you who he was after all these years. Look, please come back to the Old House . . . I’ll sleep in the coffin.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, you just got out of that damned thing.”

“Then we will think something out, but promise me you will come back to stay with Esther and me.”

“For my protection and so you can—” she motioned to the scattered papers, “And you can’t wait to get your hands on all those stuff in those trunks.”

Nikki smiles, “Well, that too.”

Samantha’s pencil snaps in two.

“Samantha?” Nikki looks over, “Are you alright?”

“Sorry. Pardon me a moment. I need a new pencil,” And Samantha gets up and hurries down the stairs, deliberately ignoring the fact that a studio must be full of pencils.

Esther watches her hurry away and shrugs.

“Okay – but, I am not going into seclusion – I am coming back to paint when I want to.”

“As long as you are careful . . . . until we find out that this is all about.

Samantha comes to a halt about three-quarters of the way down the stairs, biting on her fist to keep from making a sound—wanting to cry – but having told herself so long ago she would never cry again – and here, here she was about to –

“You are cruel Nikki.”

“What?”

Sam turns and looks at her, then looks at the stairs, and then back to Nikki: “You do know she cares for you.”

“Nikki looks at Sam and the look tells her everything she needs to know, “And no, I am not being cruel, and that is beside the point, I am trying to protect you.”

Sam looks at her very seriously, “Then tell her Nik. Tell her.”

Samantha walking further down the stairs, away, saying over and over to herself, stupid stupid stupid stupid, mouthing the words, as she was unable to actually say them her throat now to tight to make a sound – how could she have been kidding herself. Nichole Collins?

Esther keeps glancing out of the corner of her eye at the painting.

“You do know I have the Ghost Society to call upon . . . “ Sam tells her, “Which the more I think of it, is the better idea.”

“What is that?”

“I move in with David.”

“Collinwood?”

Samantha wipes up her face best she can and takes a deep breath, and to hell with it, she is going to solider on through this horrible night and so she begins to trudge her way back upstairs, pulling a spare pencil from her bag, and rejoins the conversation my voice a bit shaky.

Samantha Brook nods, “Yes—that is his counter to the Diogenes club . . . right?”

Esther sighs, “So many secret societies…”

“Yeah, as he says, I am a Collins now . . . and, there are lots of rooms for me to explore . . . Quentin’s old rooms are still there David says. Hey, I might even stay in his old room – never know what I might find there, Miss Drew.”

Samantha sits and begins taking notes again.

“So, then it’s decided, I will go to Collinwood.”

“Well David can certainly protect you there.”

“No,” Samantha says as she keeps her eyes on her notebook.

“No?” Nikki asks.

Esther looks over at Samantha Brook.

“She should go to the old house its safer there . . . ‘ She feels her shoulders tensing as she speaks.

Esther frowns, “I don’t quite understand….”

Samantha looks at her, “David has a very good security system . . . and if he suspects that something is amiss, if Nik tells him about what she is worried about, then sure he will hired even more security. But, Nikki can keep Samantha safer than David can” her voice deadpan, “Security systems aren’t everything.”

“Sam . . . I am sure you know, Nik can’t be around during the day. If these threat is what Nik suspects, then we should be worried about her.” Sam replies looking at her, well aware of Samantha Brook’s feelings for Nikki.

Esther counters, “I’m usually around during the day. When I’m not hunting…”

Sam says now turning to look at Nikki, “You have only Esther . . . if these men worry you so much, then rather than worrying about me, I think we need to get someone to help Esther to protect you.”

“Well, I just thought…bah. What do I know.” Esther says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“No Esther, do please go on,” Samantha says looking up from her notebook.

“No Esther, what?” Sam adds, “I know you can’t be there all the time.”

Esther glancing back at the painting, “Why is this all of a sudden about me? Go on. Work this out. I’ll go with whatever ya all want.”

“Well, no, I thought you had an idea — ” Sam continues.

“Whatever, its decided, I think Samantha you should move into the old house, it just – makes sense –Her voice trails off weakly as Samantha Brook quickly tried to disguise it as a cough.

“I mean, I worry about her – and you. There’s only the two of you in that Old House, alone.”

“That ol’ house is built like a fortress. With twenty people, we could hold off an army,” Esther tells Sam Evans with a smile, “with one, we can hold off a few assassins.”

“Then please take care of her Esther.” Sam says in all seriousness, “And I am sorry, Samantha, but I do think it is better for me to move in with David.”

“Why?” Samantha looks incredulously, “With your history, Nikki will fight beyond death to protect . . . you,” She fights to clear her throat. “There is no guarantee David will. . . .”

If Samantha’s stare was any more intense the paper in her book would be on fire by now.

“You have more reasons for your claim Sam. What is it?” Esther asks, trying to follow Samantha’s reasoning.

Samantha curls up in the chair and falls into silence.

“Well – to be honest Esther – I have to admit, and this is not easy for me to admit, but, I would . . . I would like to be in my father’s old room for a while – maybe feel a connection to him, you know”

Samantha begins drawing lines in the notebook.

Esther wants to get way from the horrid painting, “ Okay, so now can we go grab a beer.”

“Whale is just down stairs.” Sam says with a smile.

“I knew there was somethin’ I liked about this place>”

“Yeah it’s a great place, you can drink and stumble up the stairs and you are home.” Sam says and she rises to motion them toward the stairs.

Below, they take and table and sit discussing David, and Quentin, and the Ghost Society. Esther turning her beer slowly on the table as the camera focuses on the barcode and numbers 12121586.

Cue Music and End of Episode