The Last Piece Into Place

Collinwood. Samantha Collins, having received not only the truth of her parentage, but a number of old steamer trunks filled with books, papers, and journals of her father, Quentin Collins, has in the days since progressively received what has begun to feel like a endless influx of papers, formulas, and strange artifacts and odd curio’s. The more she researches the papers and reads the yellow-paged journals she has come to the startling conclusion that her father was far more deeply involved with the occult than she had ever suspected. With a mounting concern, she has decided to seek help from the one person she can trust with this information – her ex-lover . . . her cousin Nicole Collins.

With the threat of Count Petofi now ended, Nicole Collins had hoped that for a time, at least, the threat of “The History’s” return to Collinsport would now be abated. With the necromantic designs upon the city thwarted – perhaps the dark shadows would pass. But more importantly, she had hoped that the bargain with The Darkness she may or may not have had . . . that night in the graveyard had gone unfulfilled – for it had not been by her hand that Petofi had expired. But – having not been aware of the pact to begin with – she had no guarantee . . . for she truly did not know the terms of the pact The Darkness had supposed upon her. And so, in the days that passed she could not help but wonder . . . seeing has how he had revealed to her that it had been through his machinations that she had eventually discovered and been reunited with her mother – Erzsébet Bathory . . . if she had fulfilled her end of the unholy alliance – would he have brought about the return of her father?

Would he have honored his promise to reunite her with her parents?

To which she could not help but think of Angelique – who had carried her, nourished her in the womb – for she too was her mother.

Did she even know what they had done to her?

Did she know about “The Experiment?”

One thing she knew for certain—she needed to have a very, very candid conversation with Doctor Septmius Praetorius. There were still secrets apparently being concealed – or so Petofi had alluded.

And was he actually Angelique’s father? Which meant–was he her grandfather?

Had he truly traded his daughter to a madman for a book?

And did the Doctor, did The Diogenes Club, know anything about a possible relationship between them – or had they known all along?

She had stood silently contemplating the card Praetorius had given her – the large “?” embossed on it seeming now oh so apropos. No symbol could have been more appropriate for this top secret organization – and what about the card? Was she going to keep it? Would she remain an Extraordinary Member, seeing as how she felt they had done very little if anything at all to assist her in averting the catastrophe Petofi had almost unleashed upon Collinsport – if not the world?

Only she did not have time to make that decision as she put the card away in order to reply to the text she had just received from Sam Evans . . . Collins.

Yes—Collins.

Her cousin.

Would she ever forget the taste of her lips . . . her caress . . . would she ever stop thinking of her as the woman who had shared her bed rather than her name.

And so, seeing as how Sam’s request had been for her to stop by Collinwood as she may possibly need help from Collins Investigations, Nicole had in turned called and or texted Esther, Rhyaad, and Samantha Brook to meet her at the Great House of Collinwood.

Mrs. Johnson, the Collins housekeeper, upon opening the door indicated that Miss Collins was expecting them, and so, “Miss Collins, you can show your friends the way.” The informal housekeeper told her with a quaint smile.

As they enter Samantha Collins’ wing of Collinwood, they see her furnishings oddly mixed in among the old antiques of the Great House. Atop the stairs they stride past her makeshift art studio she had thrown together. It all looked as if Samantha had just tossed or dropped things into place uncertain if or for how long she would stay at Collinwood.

Nikki steps through the open door of the West Wing’s upper suite and sees Samantha sitting on the floor shifting through a stack of yellowed papers.

“Sam?” Nikki says taking note of the scattered books, and open journals, and old maps, and odd concordances, and brown-and-yellowed papers tossed about the room. There were two very old and large steamer trunks standing open, spilling even more paper onto the floor. “Are you alright?”

Rhyaad stares about the room with widened eyes, especially as he studies a rather macabre painting on the wall – a painting of pretty, young girl, having been horribly decapitated. He also notices several strange floating and rotating objects on the shelf of the most bizarre looking old bookcase he has ever seen. It is a huge award in bad taste, perhaps the most grotesque monster of a piece of furniture ever. And the story it must tell, he thought as he looks now at the papers strewn haphazardly across the floor. “Nine Hells!” he exclaims. “What is this place? A wizard’s laboratory?”

Esther enters behind him and immediately sees the painting again and bites her lip—but says nothing. She had seen the painting once before at Sam’s old loft apartment above the Blue Whale – only now, the painting seemed even more monstrous and vile.

Samantha Collins rises from the floor, “Oh Nikki! I am so glad you are here. And yes, Mister de’Annar, is this not the most horrible mess ever?”

“What is going on?” Nikki asks concerned as she can see the distress in Sam’s eyes.

Samantha Collins shakes her head, “God Nikki!”

“What?”

She throws her arms out, hands indicating all the books and papers, “This!”

Nikki motions to a chair near the horrid bookcase, “Here, have a seat, and tell me . . . whatever is the matter?”

“A Mess?” Rhyaad says as he stares at Samantha Evans—Collins. “This looks all too magical.” He touches the toe of his boot to some of the papers, moving them slight upon the carpet, “Are you some sort of sorceress?”

Samantha Collins sighs and takes a seat, “It is all this stuff of my father’s. It just keeps on showing up!”

Samantha Brook wanders in, humming some random childhood ditty as she plays idly with the band-aids and bandages covering her fingers.

“What do you mean—keeps on showing up? You mean objects like suddenly materializing?” Rhyaad glanced unfavorably at Samantha Brook.

“Oh no—I don’t mean like that . . . and yet, in some ways it seems almost like that – you see there are these packages that just keep on arriving – with all these papers—some of which are full of formulas and horrible diagrams—Nikki,” She turns now to look at her former lover, “I think Quentin was very involved with the occult.”

“The Occult? Or Magic?” Rhyaad asks moving over to take a seat on the odd bench built into the base of the old bookcase.

Samantha motions to an upper shelf of the horrid bookcase where a spinning triangular shaped object rotates. “I mean take a look at that thing up there. That spinning red thing. I ask you now what in the h**l do you think that is? I mean I can’t find anyway that it opens, so there are no batteries, and there’s no place to wind it up – and yet it spins and spins and spins of it’s own volition.”

Samantha Brooks settles next to Rhyaad, smiling slightly as she knows sitting so close will only annoy him, “Could be faeries.”

“Where did it come from?” Nikki asks taking a step towards the bookcase to look up at the rotating object.

“Peter Cairo.”

“Peter Cairo?” Nikki repeats arching an eyebrow in concern.

Esther pays only peripheral attention to the conversation as she cannot seem to stop looking at the painting, can not help but feel somehow that the eyes of that beheaded young woman are staring at her –as if they are trying to impart some message to her.

“You know that funny little man. The one who always wears a white linen suit. He is forever dragging in things for the bookcase.” Samantha Collins says annoyed, “Like that jar,” She points to one of the bookcase’s niches, “It has—a monkey’s paw in it. A d***ed monkey’s paw! I mean what the h**l is that all about?”

“Peter Cairo, the antiquities dealer?” Nikki turns from looking at the bookcase. “He’s still delivering curios to you?”

“When’s he every stopped!”

“A monkeys paw?” Samantha Brook perks up, and moves over to the bookcase to look at the jar. She peers into the murky liquid in which the paw is suspended, “Did you wish on it yet?”

“As in the classic tale? How odd.” Rhyaad says thoughtfully, then looks over to Samantha Brook, “Hey—don’t wish on it!”

There is a slight knock on the bedroom door.

“Ah, let’s do eeet.“ Samantha Brook looks back over her shoulder at Rhyaad, trying to goad him on.

Nikki turns to see the gentleman in question, dressed in his customary white linen suit, standing at the threshold. He holds an odd, slightly over-sized snow globe in hand.

He looks at Nikki and smiles.

Rhyaad looks at Samantha with a gaze that indicates without saying, “you are crazy,” since he knows without having to say it aloud . . . that she is crazy. And, if at all possible, even more so since that night in the Eagle Hill Cemetery.

“Oh, so sorry Miss Collins I was unaware that you were receiving visitors.” Cairo says in his soft, overly polite voice.

“And look who it is with this – this–with what is that? A snow globe?” Rhyaad now turns his attention to the door.

“Oh, whose birthday is it? “ Samantha Brooks asks, looking over to Cairo staring now in fascination at the large globe.

“Mr. Cairo—oh, please, not more stuff.” Samantha Collins protests.

Esther suddenly looks away from the painting and up at the man, “I remember you. From the Teahouse yeah?”

“A trader in antiquities and quasi-magical objects.” Rhyaad adds.

“Scientific objects.” Samantha Brook corrects Rhyaad as she waves a finger at him.

Cairo enters with a sight formal bow of his head, ‘Well, Miss Collins, I do think this is the last piece. Miss Wren wanted me to make certain you received it.”

Nikki watches him, taking note that he seems to carry the snow globe rather too cautiously. “Miss Wren? The author? What interest does she have in Samantha – and this globe?” Nikki asks protectively – well aware of the quick look from Samantha Brook even as she tries to conceal it.

“Miss Wren, oh, she has taken a fancy to that terrible old bookcase, she keeps trying to arrange and rearrange it so it will look better.” Samantha explains for Cairo, who carries the snow globe over and places it on the edge of the bench along the base of the bookcase.

“Yes, she has a rather remarkable eye for decorating and detail.” Cairo says and smiles at Nikki.

“Miss Wren… there’s something odd about her,” Rhyaad mumbles.

Samantha Brook cuts her eyes with a wry smile, “The fact that the same could be said of everyone in the room does not cross your mind?” she whispers to Rhyaad.

Nikki looks curiously at Cairo, “The woman David is letting go through the old family records?”

“Precisely,” Cairo nods, as he curls his fingers about the frame of the right lens of his glasses and adjusts them, “You see – I have been doing some research for her in regards to her new book.”

“Witch Cults in New England.” Nikki replies.

“Ah, so.” He nods.

Rhyaad raises an eyebrow at Sam as he leans over towards her. “At least I’m not crazy,” he whispers in response.

“And so, what is that?” Samantha asks looking over at the snow globe.

Samantha Brook punches Rhyaad as discreetly as possible in the back, more to make a promise for later than to actually hurt him. “Looks like it’s a snow globe,” she chimes in.

“Oh, Miss Collins, this piece is very rare. It once belonged to Tad Collins, given to him by one Gerard Stiles.”

“Gerard Stiles?” Nikki’s voice hardens and grows cold.

“Yes, Miss Collins.”

“You are aware of the history associated with that gentleman?” She asks, her blue eyes darkening.

Cairo smiles, “I do think Miss Wren is also looking into that period of the Collins Family history as well.”

Esther keeps glancing at the painting out of the corner of her eye, when her attention is drawn from the painting to the antique snow globe Peter Cairo has just placed next to her.

“It is pretty.” Samantha Brook says now as she too stares at the globe.

Rhyaad merely shakes his head at Samantha Brook sitting far too close to him as he motions toward Cairo, “Let’s pay attention to Mr. Cairo, shall we Samantha? Perhaps he’ll tell us what that really is.”

“Gerard Stiles,” Samantha Brook says suddenly remembering something as she gets up, moves over to the steamer trunks and begins to look around, reaching down and picking up an old leather journal, “Something about a mask.”

Nikki turns to her suddenly, “A mask?”

“Yes,” Samantha Collins says now absently as she flips through the pages.

“The Mask of Baal?” Nikki asks – suddenly aware of the strange look on Cairo’s face.

“Baal!” Rhyaad suddenly chimes in with a look of recognition on his face.

Samantha Brook laughs and whispers into his ear, “Sounds kind of wooly to me.”

Peter Cairo momentarily revealing a look of concern cuts a glance to Nicole Collins. “Oh so. Miss Collins you are so correct—“ and then as if to change the subject he touches an old hour-glass, “I see you have found the Sands of Time?”

“Baal is a very ancient and evil deity.” Rhyaad brushes Samantha Brook back from his shoulder and ear, “Anything connected with the Lord of the Swarm is black magic.”

“You mean that hour glass?” Samantha says as she still continues to look through the pages of the old journal, “Yeah, Victoria brought that in here a couple of days ago and said it would look perfect there.”

Nikki looks at her, “Wren again?”

“Why? Something wrong Nik, she seems nice enough.” Samantha asks looking up from the old writing in the journal.

“Oh, yes, Miss Collins, it does look perfect there.”

Esther seemingly distracted by the grotesque painting, the odd snow globe, turns her bewildered attention now to look at the hourglass. She can’t figure out why she is so preoccupied – by the painting, the bookcase – and now this snow globe.

“There’s something . . . fishy about that woman.” Rhyaad now begins to look as concerned as Nikki. “And this room is more and more reminding me of black magick.”

Peter Cairo looks at the bookcase, and then steps over and reaches up to lift a small lamp, removing it from the spot it is occupying and moves it over to a different niche. “Yes, better, you think?”

“Yeah, well the whole d**n thing looks terrible to me.” Samantha Collins tells him.

“Well—the painting is kind’a nice.” Samantha Brook says softly.

“Feng shui, Mr. Cairo?” Rhyaad asks, “Or, for some other reason?”

“Oh do not say that Miss Collins this is a very, very priceless artifact.” Cairo says and looks at his watch, “So sorry, but I must be leaving.”

Esther, hearing Samantha Brook mentioning the painting turns and looks once again at the beheading.

Peter Cairo bows and abruptly exists.

“Cairo—“ Nikki calls out as he steps out of the door.

Rhyaad frowns, “Well . . . that was rather abrupt.”

Samantha Collins shakes her head, “God look at that thing Nik, where does it even fit? It’s hiddious – if it wasn’t my father’s . . . ”

Her eyes lighting up at the world of sex jokes that comes quickly to her mind in response to Samantha Collin’s question, Samantha Brook begins to giggle.

“More to the point, WHAT is it?” he asks

Nikki turns to look at the bookcase, the items in it, and the Snow Globe, “It is rather large.” She steps over to look at it.

Rhyaad gives Samantha Brook another of those “crazy woman” looks.

“Oh, h**l, I remember now where that journal is – about the d***ed mask.” She steps over to the bookcase, “Let me get the key. I put it up here so I wouldn’t lose the it.”

Esther turns to look once more at the painting and her hand accidentally brushes against the glass of the globe.

Samantha Collins, climbing up on the bench of the bookcase reaches up into the top left niche and reaching for the key touches an small lever behind some of the old curio’s “What is this?”

Samantha Brook growls ever so lightly as the other Samantha steps near.

“What happened to your fingers?” He whispers as he looks at the band-aids and bandages, “Did you climb out of the window and scale the walls of Harker Manson instead of walking out the door like a normal person?”

As Esther’s hand touches the snow globe a bright flash of light suddenly explodes from the center of the bookcase.

Nikki turns and feels oddly – light-headed, as if she is falling . . . fading.

Samantha Brook tires to leap back to the center of the room.

Suddenly Rhy, Sam and Esther too feel they are fading.

“HELLS!” Rhyaad jumps up and backs away from the bookcase.

Samantha Brook shakes her head and tries to move towards Nikki.

When the flash of light subsides, Sam jumps down from the bookcase bench.

She is the only one in the room

“What the f**k?” She yells, “Nikki!”

She steps over to where only moment ago Nikki stood, only now she is all alone.

Cue Music

But as the credits come to an end with A Black Rose Studio Production

DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU DID NOT ATTEND THIS ROLE PLAY SESSION AND DO NOT WISH TO BE SPOILED – SPOILER ALERT

They fade into a view of the ocean.

Five miles off the coast of Maine located within a collection of small islets, not far from the largest of the tiny archipelago, St. Eustace Island, the blinking blue and red lights of the secret facility, (constructed by Collins Real Estate Investments International, LLC) are visible now in the gathering fog.

A fog that seems to be moving, ever so slowly, upon the facility, where only moments before the Atlantic had been a swell of white caps glistening in the moonlight. A calm sea and a clear night sky – only now there is an ever growing swell and a thickening mist, which seems to be converging upon the small islets.

In the library of the Diogenes Club’s secret laboratory, Dr. Praetorius closes the file and places it on the conference table before him. He reaches over and picks up his glass of gin and takes a sip and smiles as he anticipates the reaction of the Chairman of the Ruling Cabal, Vanessa Coats.

Once again Catronia Kaye had proven that next to Mycroft Holmes, she had been the most powerful head of the Queen’s most clandestine organization. The former Chairman of the Ruling Cabal’s analysis and threat assessment, based on the most insubstantial information The Diogenes Club had intercepted, her belief in Nicole Collins, her strong recommendation in offering her an Extraordinary Membership had proven to be prescient. Whereas Coats had placed her bets on the mother, Catronia’s choice of the daughter had in the end proven to be the correct wager.

Dr. Praetorius sipped his gin – perhaps this would help reinforce the hand of those who still believed in Catronia . . .
Or perhaps, this time they would think she was merely lucky.

Had things gone as planned?

No.

But all in all he would say things had gone rather well considering the source of the intelligence that they had to work with – the vague threat that the enigmatic and very powerful Witch Coven of the 1690’s, headed by Judah Zachery, had been called upon to reconvene and consolidate their powers . . . for some most wicked stratagem – never properly exposed.

Only, he had to admit, they seemed to have been rather uncharacteristically disorganized.

Edward Hutchinson, the Count Andreas Petofi, perhaps one of the more powerful members, had been neutralized and eliminated. And, Nicholas Blair? Well, the usually brilliant Simon Orne had apparently gotten himself involved with the unsavory and rather insane Narcissa Snow, as well as her mad brother, and thus forced into making a rather strategic retreat.

As for Joseph Curwin, well, perhaps rumors that he was still alive may have been greatly exaggerated.

And Judah Zachery, the mastermind, perhaps the most dangerous of them all, never made an appearance – but then again, he too was long presumed dead.

Pickman was back among his ghouls . . . Hastur never fully materialized.

“A breech has been detected!”

The feminine digital voice says abruptly from the overhead sound system of the library.

He puts his drink down, eyes narrowing.

”Intruder alert – intruder alert!”

Praetorius quickly arose from the conference table, his hand instinctively reaching inside his suit jacket as he turns to watch as a tall, blonde slowly ascends now the curved stairs leading from the laboratory below.

His fingers touch the Walther PBK in its shoulder holster – as yet not drawn.

As she reaches the landing he at once recognizes her as the author that David Collins has offered not only lodgings but also access as well to the Collins family records: Victoria Wren.

“I say, Miss Wren you gave me a start.”

“What an interesting place you have here, Doctor.” Her light melodic voice is traced with amusement. Bright blue eyes a sparkle with mischievousness. “I do hope I have not damaged anything.”

”A breech has been detected!”
”Intruder alert – intruder alert!”

The Doctor smiles and touched a series of buttons on the console on the table, silencing the alarm, “Not at all, Miss Wren – but I must ask, how did you ever find your way into this facility.”

“Oh—Well, the door was open, “ She says walking closer to the round conference table, looking at the library, as she places her messenger bag down on the table. She looks about the room, her long, slender fingers idly stroking a white, silk handkerchief, “My Doctor, you have a lot of books.”

“Ah” He says warily, well aware she is lying about the door. He looks at the bookcases, “Well, yes, I do have quite a few. Must be of interest you being an author.”

She smiles, and cuts a glance towards him, “As well as you.”

“Me? And author?” His interest piqued at what she truly wanted.

“Of many things.” She says as she slips her hand into the bag and removes a small cloth doll.

He looks at her oddly, and then at the doll.

She smiles at him her blue eyes full of merriment as she begins to slip the dainty handkerchief around the neck of the doll, almost absently, as she speaks, “Perhaps, I might be allowed to look at few of them.”

“The books – well perhaps.” He says, still uncertain of the woman – although, there was something very familiar in the way she moves her hands, her fingers . . .

She suddenly tightens the handkerchief about the doll’s neck and the doctor grabs his throat.

“Oh, is something the matter?”

“I—“ He gasps pulling at his collar. “I can’t breathe!”

‘That must be troubling Doctor,” Her fingers pulling the cloth around the doll’s neck tighter, “To have lived so long and find you can not breathe.”

“What—” He asks looking at the doll, aware now that she was choking him.

“I would have thought a man of your considerable talents, knowledge of the occult – a master of experiments, would have discovered by now a way to live without having to breathe—I am surprised, Praetorius.”

He struggles, his fingers trying to remove something invisible from around his throat, “”W-w-who are you?”

And she moves the fingers of her left hand oddly, “I command the powers of the night to once again return to him his true sight,” she whispers now with a wicked smile—and suddenly the spell she had been using to disguise herself melts away—and Dr. Praetorius’s eyes suddenly widen with recognition.

The blonde woman steps forward, holding the cloth of the handkerchief about the dolls neck between her fingers. She pulls the ends tighter.

He staggers back to fall into his chair.

“Don’t you recognize me, Doctor? I am Angelique Collins!” She smiles sardonically, “Now! Let’s talk about that abomination you put in my womb!“

-To Be Continued-