The Breaking and Entering of Blair’s Sanctuary : Part 2

Collinsport. For too long the threat of the necromancer conspiracy against Collinswood had been nothing more than speculation. But last night Nichole Collins and Rhyaad de’Annar came face to face with the long sought after Nicholas Blair. Blair, the dangerous 17th century necromancer Simon Orne, had apparently been staying at the Collinsport Inn for over a month under the assumed name of Richard Garner. But the discovery of Blair’s whereabouts has only brought new and even more troubling questions as Simon Orne revealed his close association with Dr. Praetorius of the Diogenes Club. Contemporaries of Victor Frankenstein, working together – what other dark secrets about Dr. Praetorius does Orne have yet to reveal? And Dr. Praetorius’ allusion to the fact that somehow this was all a game – a game that had been going on for far longer that Nichole Collins could have suspected – and one of the pawns already sacrificed in this horrid game had been her guardian Dr. Julia Hoffman. Filled with anger and guilt, Nichole had decided in the early morning hours it was time to strike at Blair – time to engage in their game.

WARNING: Contains scenes fitting for an adult audience. Viewer Discretion is advised.

Collinsport Inn

The Collinsport Inn had once been a very roughhewn pine building. Constructed in the spring of 1692 by Etienne Becancour, it had been only the third building not owned or operated by Isaac Collins the founder of the newly established costal village of Collinsport. Completed only weeks before the infamous Judah Zachery witch trial, the lobby, being one of the largest gathering rooms at the time, had been commandeered by the three-judge tribunal established by the Providence of Massachusetts to hear the evidence presented by the prosecution and two witch finders, Matthew Matigan and Jeremiah Wiley. In its long history it had burned three times and had been resurrected, like a Phoenix from it’s ashes, to be expanded with each new reconstruction – the latest renovation having been financed by the Collins Group, a real estate investment subsidiary of Collins Enterprises. Claude Becancour had been more than happy to take the financing based on David Collin’s hope of transforming Collinsport into “the Maine Cape Cod.”

Nikki pushes the revolving glass door and enters the hotel lobby followed by Samantha Brook, who emerges out of the whooshing doors. Nikki took quick note that the same young woman who had been working the front desk upon her prior visit was at the desk again tonight – as the woman looked up and smiled at her. There were several chrome luggage carts parked off to the left. A small rack of brochures of local sites and attractions placed near the rolling lectern used by the doorman, who if he was on duty was busy elsewhere.

Together they move now further into the hotel and over to the large sofas set before the warm blaze of the fireplace, ““Sam, dear, please be very careful . . . promise me.”

“I promise Miss Nikki” Samantha bows her head slightly as she fights the urge to rub at her fake eye.

“Okay, now, I am more than certain Blair is still at the bar. He is the well-dressed gentleman with the mustache.”

“Eeeu—mustaches.” Samantha shudders.

Samantha straightens her ensemble, looks at Nikki and smiles; and then turns to move away toward the bar.

Nikki suddenly reaches out and takes Samantha’s hand, “I am here. If he tries anything – I am here, okay.”

Samantha nods gently, “Thank you Miss Nikki.”

Samantha squeezes her hand and then release it as she strides off now confidently toward the bar further back into the recesses of the hotel.

Nikki smiles at the receptionist as she saunters back toward the rear of the hotel, following Samantha at a discrete distance.

As she moves toward the sound of the music escape from the bar, the rhythmic beat exiting the entranceway of the hotel bar, Samantha stops at the threshold and looks into the dimly lit room. She takes note of multi-colored chalk calligraphy on the sandwich-board chalkboard that tonight’s special is White Russians – there is even a Russian in large Cossack hat drawn off in the right hand corner.

At the bar there is tall man with longish black hair and a mustache. He is well dressed. Beside him stands two women, a red-head and a blonde, with whom he is conversing – one of the women, the blonde in a shiny black pants-suit, giggles and then sips her cranberry hued drink through a small red stir-stick.

Samantha strides into the bar, her stiletto heels striking the carpeted floor with precision. As she walks closer to the bar she can now overhear him address the bartender, “Ah, yes, if you would be so kind as to refresh these lovely ladies drinks, my dear.”

At first not looking at him, trying to suppress her nervousness – and a little fear, seeing as how this man is a necromancer after all – she holds her head up, level, looking as indifferent as she can as she steps over to a empty bar stool near him. She is certain to step so that her hips convey a rather sexy catlike prowl.

The redhead in the Champaign-hued cocktail dress laughs, “Oh, Mr. Garner you are so charming.”

“I try to be at all times.” He says and watches the bartender pouring the drinks “And that goes on my room.”

The bartender nods just as she has every night this week, “Yes, Mr. Garner, Room 121.”

As she places the drinks for the ladies on the bar, the bartender looks down at Samantha, “And what would you like tonight?” She asks.

“A White Russian,” Samantha purrs at the bartender.

Nicholas Blair, his eyes light and amused, puts his hand in his suit jacket pocket and turns slowly to watch Samantha on the bar stool, “Oh, my, now what do we have here?” His smile grows wider, teeth large, white and even. “Yet another lovely lady. I had no idea that Collinsport had so many beautiful women.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The bartender replies and starts mixing vodka and Tia Maria.

Samantha pretends to ignore him, the only acknowledgement of his compliment being the slyest of winks as she watches the drink being prepared, and then reaches up and pulls the drinker closer as the bartender places it before her.

Blair smiles and raises an eyebrow, “And please, if I may, do place that on my tab.”

Samantha nods assent and takes a sip of the White Russian.

“My name is Richard Garner.” He turns to lean an elbow on the bar, “ And if I may ask, who do I have the honor of meeting here tonight?”

He turns his back to the two ladies he had been talking to.

Samantha turns to face him, the tip of her tongue licking the lingering cream of the drink off her lips, “Mmm, that’s rather generous of you, Mr. Garner,” she smiles and holds out her hand, “I am Sandre`, Sandre`deBeau.”

His smile widens, “Oh, my, what an enchanting name, and I must say, I do know some very enchanting names.”

Samantha can’t help feeling the lightest of colors shimmer onto her cheeks, “My, I was not aware a small town such as this had such charmers.”

“What do you say? Let’s have a seat over here if you don’t mind, Miss deBeau.” He takes his two-olive martini from the bar and motions to one of the small tables with a flicking candle centerpiece.

“Mmm,” Samantha purrs, “I would be delighted.” She rises from the bar stool and takes her drink with her.

Nicholas Blair takes a seat and smiles as he watches Miss deBeau step over to the table and sit down across from him.

“So, what brings such a gentleman as yourself to Collinsport?” She asks maintaining eye contact with him, giving him a soft gaze.

“Business actually. I am an dealer in old books.”

“Oh how fascinating. She leans forward feinting interest, using the table to press her breasts up slightly to increase his view of her cleavage, “It is such a pleasure to meet not only a sharp dressed, but a well read man.”

“I must say Miss D’Beaur you have the most luscious lips – has anyone ever told you that?”

He motions to the bartender to bring another round of drinks as he finishes the last of his martini and takes a large bite to remove the olives from the light green plastic drink sword upon which they have been impaled.

Samantha smiles softly, “I must say you are the first. Now, has anyone mmmm ever told you how much you remind one of a younger Mr. Reynolds.”

She licks her lips seductively.

He smiles, “Oh, I do make out like a bandit.”

“I am sure you do.”

“Although I do so enjoy your company, Miss deBeau . . . and you I must say you are certainly a vision to behold, I have to admit, I am a bit confused, to say the least.” He took the drinks from the bartender and handed over another White Russian.

Samantha takes the drink from him, her fingers brushing ever so gently across his own, “Confused as to what Mr. Garner?

“That you would take a moment it sit with me, when there are so many rather charming ladies about,” He sips his drink, “I mean, I am certain that you would much rather be with them would you not?”

Samantha takes another sip, holding the drink and swirling it after removing it from my lips – has he figured out who she is already? Or is he suggesting something a bit kinky? She watches now as his fingers begin to move as if he were folding something, almost as if he were working some origami construction without paper.

Suddenly the red-head from the bar walks over, “Yes, Dick?”

Samantha flashes a brief smile, “While I am certainly not objectionable to a woman’s company, sometimes they do not meet all of a woman’s needs.”

“Have you met Miss deBeau?” He asks

“No, I have not.” The woman says looking at Samantha with a rather vacant smile.

“Is she not charming?”

Samantha keeps her attention on Blair; “You flatter me with your kind words”

“Oh but Miss deBeau it is not flattery, it is fact. This town it is so filled with wondrous women.”

Nikki from her seat outside the bar, sitting on a bench near a side table with a large flower arrangement listens as she concentrates to hear, even from this distance, Samantha and Blair’s conversation. She is suddenly very concerned—does Blair know who Samantha is? She detects his voice is not being witty or coy, but that he is saying he knows she is a lesbian – and she is not certain Sam has picked up on it. She cocks her head to one side in order to concentrate harder – to try and get an impression from him as to what are his intentions rather than to try and read his thoughts – which she is sure he would detect immediately.

Samantha looks at he woman standing beside her, “Well I have to admit that fact is not disputable, but last I saw, there was only one of you,” her voice silky smooth and deep, almost redefining the phrase seductive.

“Yes, there are so many of you . . . I can’t help but feel I am—under attack,” He sips his martini.

She looked over and for a moment felt a shudder of trepidation at that statement – and she sat looking at the man across the table, who looked to her to be no more than forty and yet she knew that he might have been forty a hundred years ago, maybe even two hundred years ago – and how was that even possible? How could he not age? An elixir of life like that crazy Doctor P? Magic? Sucking the blood of the living? It was all so incredulous. Until she came to this wacked-out town, she would have never entertained such thoughts . . .. It was like the Shunammite woman’s son – having died in the fields. It wasn’t so much the resurrection – the magic needed for that – but rather, just looking at it in terms of basic principles – what magic and where did it stem that kept his body for hours in the heat of the day from beginning to decay– preserving it for the magic to come – as soon as death those little microscopic agents of decay begin their decomposition – organs breaking down – and not even to discuss the long term effects of a lack of oxygen to the brain – and, so, it wasn’t so much the thought of the magic necessary to bring him back to life but what kept him biologically intact for the resurrection . . . but then, what did she know, really, sitting here at table in bar drinking with a necromancer in order to distract him for a vampire. Yet another impossibility – the dead reanimated! And yet, here she was – at some point having to admit to herself her feeling for a woman that was . . . dead – except when she was with Nikki she found herself forgetting entirely the absurdity of the situation – no the perversity – of being with a corpse . . . holding her hand – kissing her dead lips – and she really shouldn’t – is she not taking on the impurity of the dead? What she should be doing is cleansing herself. She should be looking for a hawthorn tree. She can see herself now entering the Old House. Closing the door behind her. It is noon. Esther is gone. She slowly walks over to the curved staircase. One foot, then the other, ascending the stairs. At the top of the landing she turns. Was there a sound below? No. She steps now into Nikki’s bedroom. Nikki is lying there on the bed, silent, in repose. She moves slowly over to the bed, and removes the wooden stake from her coat. The 12-pound sledge in hand. She places the point of the stake over her heart . . . she lifts the hammer . . . and . . . and . . . oh, God, she knew now that he knew – that he was . . . ”No!” she suddenly says.

His fingers now moving as if he were making a mountain fold.

The red-head standing beside Samantha nods and says,” “Yes, Dick.”

Samantha looks at her, as he didn’t say anything.

Then woman turns and returns to the bar.

She wants to get up and run . . . only—

“I believe I heard you mention a room, 12?” She smiles gently, “12 one of my favorite numbers.”

She hears herself saying—can’t stop herself.

“Beautiful and forward, two of my favorite things,” He says, “Well then yes, by all means, I never wish to disappoint a lady – and not one as beautiful as you.” He stands up and finishes his drink and looks at the second White Russian she has yet to touch, “Why don’t you bring your drink and follow me.”

Samantha finds herself standing, picking up her drink and following him toward the door.

Nikki rises and moves down the hallway silently to slip into the ladies room as she is well aware that Blair would recognize her.

“My room is just this way.” He says.

Samantha follows him, her body moving with a natural flow and grace—against her will.

“Oh, I do so love those lovely legs, so long, so firm – I bet they feel so good wrapped about one very tight.”

They move down the corridor toward his room. He removes his electronic card key and slips it into the door, red blinks to green, and it opens – he turns and smiles.

She wants to turn and run – to call out to Nikki, but instead she follows him into Room 12. He closes the door.

The room is very neat – almost as if he had just arrived rather than having occupied the room for a month. She takes note that he looks over to the phone on the bedside table, checking to see if he has received any messages.

Nicholas Blair sits on the edge of the bed and pats it with his hand, “’Please come and have a seat beside me my dear.” He smiles, “Unlike others – I won’t bite.”

Samantha, looking at herself in the mirror of the dresser, wants to tell herself to go to the door, open it, escape – this is trap! But she can’t, and instead moves over to sit beside him.

“And so Miss Brook what is it you intend—“

He stops speaking.

Blair suddenly looks toward the window.

He seems to hear something.

He turns to Sam, “Do you by chance have a cell phone?”

“I do.” She answers.

“Then Miss Brook you should use it and phone Miss Collins – tell her that her friends are in danger as I do not leave my house unprotected.”

Oh, my God—he knows! Samantha reaches into her purse and takes out her Smartphone and dials a number.

“Sam?” Nikki’s voice is heard from the speaker of the phone.

Blair smiles and suddenly his hands clasp about Sam’s throat roughly.

Samantha’s hands fly to grab his wrists.

“Sam!”

He smiles a vicious smile and squeezes harder.

“Sam!”

She can’t breathe. She drops the phone.

Nikki suddenly senses – no . . . she can hear Sam’s mind calling her name, calling out for help and she dashes from the sofa in the lobby.

Samantha struggling grabs her glass eye and shatters it on the frame of the bed so as to gouge the broken shards into his cheek.

Nikki races down the corridor.

Samantha gasps as she tries to pry his fingers from her throat – the glass eye cutting into his hand.

Nikki pushes a couple walking down the corridor aside as she rushes to Room 12.

She does not slow down as she lifts her foot and kicks the door open. The metal security lock bar snaps and flies across the room, the electronic lock gives way and the heavy door smacks up against the wall behind.

She enters seeing Blair’s hands on Sam’s throat.

Nicholas Blair reacts by turning to look at Nikki, “So there you are.”

Samantha takes the moment to punch him with her other fist.

In a blur Nikki grabs Blair by the throat and lifts him up from the edge of the bed and hurls him back across the room where he hits the wall.

“Sam, are you alright!” She steps over to look at her throat.

Samantha brushes Nikki aside as she springs to my feet, W-watch him! “ She chokes out gasping for air . . .

Nikki turns, “I am.”

A hand at her throat trying to regain her breath, Samantha falls to a knee.

Blair rises and straightens his jacket, pulls at his cuffs, “I must say, Miss Collins you so disappoint me.”

Samantha pulls out a small knife from Nikki’s kitchen.

Nikki’s blue eyes are dark and filled with anger, “You are disappointed in me?”

Samantha rises a bit unsteadily.

Blair shifts his shoulders, “Do you have any idea of the power you can wield—and yet, you are oh so concerned with these . . . mortals.”

“All things are mortal,” Samantha growls.

“These mortals—they are my friends!”

“Your friends?” He says with a too wry smile, his fingers moving, “Do you really think they trust you? You! They all smile to your face, but they each believe you to be nothing more than a monster.”

He steps forward.

“You know it.” A valley fold, mountain fold, “Just as you long for their blood . . . they long to be rid of you – look at her.”

Nikki glances over to Samantha.

“Only moments ago she was horrified at the thought of being with a corpse – of kissing your dead lips.” He said—petal fold, a twist, rabbit ear, valley, “She’s even contemplating coming to you in the middle of the day and driving a stake into your heart.”

Samantha lunges at him with her knife, “SHUT UP!”

“You hide from your true nature, but when you wake up each day, it is there, the desire, the want—to be what you truly are . . . while they plot, behind your back, plot to destroy you.”

“SHUT THE F**K UP!” Samantha yells, “Don’t listen to him. Watch his hands!”

And his fingers fold once more, and Sam is suddenly lifted up and hurled across the bed by some unseen force. She falls to the other side. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeyyy”

He steps closer to Nikki, “Oh you know I am right—look what they have done to you – lied to you, used you . . . all of them . . . everyone one—they all will abandon you . . . just like your parents.”

Nikki looks at him, her dark blue eyes blazing.

“You are a magnificent creature of the night and you should be free.” He tells her and steps up to stand beside her, “All you have to do is kill her . . . taste her sweet blood.”

“You shut your whore mouth you filthy f**king bastard, “Samantha growls, rising to her feet as she holds her knife before her.

He holds up a finger, “Listen.”

The room grows silent.

“Can you not hear it?”

Samantha moves around the foot of the bed.

“Her heart, listen to it – you can hear it beating.” He all but whispers to Nikki, and he once more moves his fingers with those intricate origami hand motions – which Samantha thinks to herself she has grown oh so tired of seeing him get away with.

“The sweet warm blood, rushing through her, through her veins . . . hot . . . so delicious.” His voice a long seduction, “Just one good long drink and you will feel so much better – kill her!”

Samantha slowly raises her hand with the knife.

“Why do you struggle so – take her . . . “

Samantha lets the knife loose. It hurls across the short distance and strikes him hard sinking deep into his shoulder. He spins around and the smile is gone from his face.

His fingers now begin to fold something far more complex.

His eyes have gone amber.

He waves his hand and Sam is hurled across the room and slammed into the far wall.

Nicholas Blair reaches now to pull the knife out, only Nikki moves quickly and gripping the handle shoves the blade in deeper, as she whispers into his ear, “Why don’t I just kill you instead?”

Blood running down his arm, dripping from his fingers to the floor he grimaces as Nikki twists the blade, scraping bone, “He was not wrong about you, that is for sure.”

“Who?”

His hands flicker and fold, and suddenly the air about him begins to shimmer.

“NIKKI!” Samantha gathering herself up off the floor runs and hurls herself in order to tackle Nikki pushing her away from him.

The toe of his shoe begins to make a symbol of the bloodstains on the floor.

The angles of the room begin to shift.

Shadows begin to curl like ink in water.

Nikki and Sam fall to the floor now as Sam has shoves her away from Blair.

The shimmer becomes more opaque – cloudily.

The room smells of ozone.

And there is a blinding flash of light.

Samantha rolls on top of Nikki to shield her—the horror of the memory, the image of her standing there the 12-pouhd sledge rising, the point of the stake over that precious heart still haunting. Will she ever get rid of it? She is ready now to give her life for her . . .

Only Blair is gone.

All that remains are the blood stains on the floor.

A strange symbol drawn in blood.

Nikki lies on the floor, “Godd****d it . . . “

Samantha rolls over and off Nikki, her back sore from where he hurled her against the wall.

Nikki rises stands now struggling to regain her composure.

She shivers.

Her hands tremble.

“Miss Nikki . . . could we trace him through that?” Samantha points at the symbol drawn in blood upon the floor – her wrist exposed.

Nikki looks at her pulse – the lovely blue vein.

She turns away . . . “I-I don’t know . . . I . . . ”

Samantha manages to crawl back onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, flops across it to lay her head on the foot of the bed.

Nikki feels herself conflicted, as she tries to step back from Blair’s seduction.

“Rhy.” She says, “He’s in danger.”

“All he does is move . . . move his hands.” Samantha gasps.

“Casting spells.” Nikki says trying to regain control, feeling her fangs begin to shrink as she reaches into her back pocket of her worn jeans for her cell phone, “I have to warn Rhy and Meili.”

Samantha rolls over looking at the ceiling, “You know I wonder if this is how a hooker feels when the guy refuses to pay . . .

Only Nikki notices that she has a message: GOT IT!

“It’s from Rhy.” Nikki turns to Samantha – “They were successful.”

Nikki saunters over to Sam and sits down beside her, “Sam—thank you.”

Samantha smiles with my eyes closed, “Any time Miss Nikki.” She reaches out a hand and grabs Nikki’s wrist, “Nikki, he was right – he put horrible images in my head – I saw myself holding a stake over you . . “

Nikki pats her hand, “Try to forget those images, they were not yours, they were his.”

“I think I love you.” Samantha tells her.

Nikki leans over her and lies her head on her shoulder, “Let’s go home.”

Cue Music End of Episode