An Alliance of Necessity

Collinsport. It is a rainy night in Collinsport and several individuals move furtively through the rain. Plots and counter plots are being formulated this night. And at the Blue Whale two individuals who have formed an alliance based on their own mutual wants and desires meet to discuss their next move in a grand game they are yet unaware they are even playing.

Background: [www.rainymood.com]

It is just past eight and the trolley has pulled away from the stop as Evan Hanley closes the door to his Lexus and opens the umbrella. The patter of rain falls on the nylon. The asphalt of the street, the parking lot, and the wooden planks and pilings of the wharf glisten as he steps toward the wooden steps that lead up to the small retail shops and the old restaurant and tavern that anchors the end. The Blue Whale.

He ascends the steps and walks toward the famous Collinsport nightspot.

The summer season having wound down, Evan Hanley opens the door to The Blue Whale and feels the relaxing respite of finding the renowned restaurant and tavern no longer crowded to capacity. Vacant now of the chaos of exhausted families and their frustrated children, wildly overflowing with pent-up and barely restrained energy, loud and shifting about barely controllable by mothers and fathers all on the edge bitter edge of anger from being much too hungry and at the point of exhaustion from vacation fatigue.

He shakes his umbrella just outside the door, and places it in the stand set up at the door.

A smile appears on his face as he turns to see Kimberly Putnam, the young hostess that Samantha Evans Collins has just hired to replace the less friendly Cheryl Spenser, whose dour face was perhaps fine for the usual Collinsport regular, but not at all congenial or hospitable for the tourists. As for Hanley, he would much rather see the far lovelier Miss Putnam. “It looks like we have the Whale once again all to ourselves again, Kimberly.”

“Yes, Mr. Hanley.” She smiles, “Your usual side table by the window is available tonight.”

He smiles warmly, and nods, “Am I that much a creature of habit?”

She lifts the menu, and smiles back at him.

He shakes his head, “Thanks, Kimberly, but I don’t think I need a menu tonight.”

She nods demurely.

He descends the three wooden platform steps to the lower bar and dining floor and steps across the room with the long years of his profession masking the concern he felt – a creature of habit. Not wise. Not wise at all for one such as he.

He sits down at the booth.

Samantha Evans Collins making her rounds to check on her patrons notices Hanley and steps over with a big smile, “The usual Mr. Hanley?”

He looks up with an equally warm smile, “I think tonight, I would rather have a vodka martini.”

“Shaken and not stirred,” She laughs.

His eyes widen at the reference, aware of her humor, “Precisely.”

She walks off toward the bar – not actually his waitress, she passes on the order to Beverly Tillinghast, who looks back over he shoulder toward his booth. happy to take the order as Hanley was always a big tipper.

Hanley glances out the window and places a hand up to shield the interior light’s glare off the glass so as to look out into the bay. While he is doing so, the front door of the Whale opens and a tall, blonde woman, striking for her beauty, her blonde hair, pulled up, and the green eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses, which are unable to conceal a slight impish glint.

The Beverly Tillinghast steps over and places Hanley’s martini before him, ‘Here you go, Mr. Hanley. A Martini?”

He looks up at her with a nod, “Thanks,” nad he suddenly looks past her to see the woman entering the Whale.

“A table for one Miss.” Kimberly Putnam asks.

The blonde shakes her head, “No. No, my dear I am meeting someone.” And she saunters off past the hostess stand and crosses the room toward Hanley.

The door opens again and Samantha Brook enters muttering to herself, hands stuffed in her coat pockets, dripping rain as she walks into the restaurant, and down the steps, heading over to the bar.

On the dance floor, the band, Room 2, begins a new set as the singer; Alison Drew steps up to the microphone and begins to sway to the music as she looks out across the thinly crowded room.

“Evan.” Angelique Collins says as she steps up to the booth, “Drinking alone? Not at all a good sign – they say.”

He looks up at her, “Trying to break a few habits.”

‘”At this late date.” She says taking a seat across from him, her green eyes full of mirth. “I bit useless, one would think.”

“At our age it is best to be certain we don’t have too many habits.”

“Speaking of age Evan – let’s talk about the time. What have you found out about the orb.” She says, her eyes no longer filled with humor of only a few moments ago – they now become cold and harsh.

“I sent my private investigator, Tony Peterson, out to Collinwood to speak with Miss Collins.”

“You think that wise?”

“Tony knows what he is doing.”

She smiles, “I am well aware of Mr. Peterson’s . . . talents.”

“From what we can gather, it seems Nicole Collins has it.”

Angelique looks across the room at Samantha Evans Collins behind the bar, discussing something with Carl, the bartender. “How is it possible that – that foolish girl,” indicating Samantha Collins, “was able to activate the bookcase?”

“Cairo.”

“Peter?” She asks looking back at Hanley.

He looks down at his martini, longing for a single malt Scotch. He reaches up and pulls at his ear lobe, “He placed the last piece in the bookcase, on the right shelf.”

“But – how did that girl figure out how to activate it?” Her voice disdainful upon the word, girl.

“That, Mrs. Collins,” he lifts his glass and takes a drink, “I do not know.”

“Wren, Mr. Hanley. The name at the moment is Wren – it would be wise to remember that – or should I call you Joseph – Mr. Curwin?”

“Point taken.”

Angelique Collins looks out at the rain as it runs down the windowpanes. “I need the orb, Evan.”

“I can try to have Tony find it – but, as you well know on the Collins estate there are maybe twenty or thirty places it could be concealed. She has her father’s journals.”

“Hundreds.” She tells him. “There could be hundreds.”

Hanley puts the glass down unhappy with the taste, “It would be far more advantageous for us, Miss Wren, if you were to try and recover it.”

“Me?”

Alison catches sight of the lovely blonde at the booth, and watches the couple as she slowly sways and snaps her fingers in time to the music.

He looks across the table at her, “She is after all your daughter.”

Angelique’s eyes grow colder as she turns to look at him, “She is HER daughter.”

Evan Hanley’s bright smile disappears and he leans forward, “My dear, I have a lot invested in this little enterprise of yours.”

“And I don’t?”

“You and I have an understanding – I could just as easily make other – alliances.“ He tells her and pushes the glass to one side, grown tired of the drink he didn’t want to begin with, “Older ones. And as such, my dear Angelique, it would be best . . . that for the time being you found a way to put your personal feelings aside.”

Samantha Brook watching Samantah Collins going over some piece of paper with Carl the bartender, reaches quickly over the bar, unseen, and fingers bareing touching the tops of the bottles in the well closes about and lifts up and out a bottle of Jameson –

Angelique Collins lips curl about an evil smile, “This is all very personal Evan. You very well know that – know why I am doing this.”

“Yes – and you should make no mistake as to why I am doing this.” He tells her, his voice growing a harder edge. “Why I am helping you.”

“You know at some point we will both betray the other.” She says with a laugh, “It is inevitable.”

“Oh yes, of that I am more than well aware – but let us hope that is after you have gotten the Pearl and I the Mask.”

“Oh, Evan,” She looks at him sly smile, “Never fear, I told you . . . you can have your damned mask when I get the Crimson Pearl, but, neither of us can get what we want without the orb.”

Alison Drew smiles at the sax player—she is riding the blood rush from the fine bottle of blood that was still very warm the Reverend had supplied earlier at his hide-away apartment at the Baxter Building.

“I told you we should have never let Cairo give her the Orb of Solace until we were ready.” Angelique tells Hanley.

“That my dear he did entirely upon his own.” He sighs and shifts his shoulders, “Cairo is and always has been a loose cannon.”

‘But, one we well needed.”

Evan Hanley looks at the waitress and motions toward her.

Angelique sighs and sits back—for all her powers, once again, all of her plans seem disrupted.

“You are aware that Catriona Kaye in Collinsport.”

“Yes.” He says, and smiles at the waitress, “A single malt Scotch, please. I would think she is quite interested in what you are doing here.”

“Meddlesome woman!” She snaps in anger.

Yes, Kaye in Collinsport – as well as that damned Praetorius, the lunatic, and now– and now the orb was missing. She looks once more at the rain streaming down the window, reflecting now on how things have suddenly gone so awry . . . Cairo—arriving too soon— and giving the Orb of Solace to the Evans girl instead of her. And somehow, she had accidently activated the bookcase. Alerting Nicole. And now—and now it was gone, the orb, and it was being held by . . . by daughter.

Alison stands in the single spot as she closes her eyes and begins the new song – thinking The Nightingale, how fitting.

She knew that the Reverend was now making some new move in his game.

His first move had been to remove St. Clair for the board: one down.

Alison’s voice like a siren’s song as captivated those in the Blue Whale as they sit watching her. But whatever he was planning, she so hoped that the Reverend’s next move would soon bring her out – force her to come to her as she so longs to see her.

Angelique looks over and sees that the singer captivates the crowd, even the waitress, as the woman stands to watch as she moves to the music.

She smiles – a vampire, of course, how fitting – here in Collinsport.

As Alison sings she is aware that the Reverend and Stiles would be pulling into the parking lot to remove another.

“Neither of us has the luxury of time Angelique – “ He says with some urgency, “And so, it is imperative that you get involved. You have to go to her and tell her who you are – you have to explain to her what you are here to do. I am more than certain she will return the orb to you.”

Angelique Collins continues to watch the rain, “You are certain that Peterson will be unable to find it.”

“What is—Mrs. Collins.” He stares at her, looking into those complex green eyes, “You’re afraid! That it –isn’t it?” He says using now his trial voice, the one that came readily to had whenever he found the thread that usually unraveled the case, “You are afraid of her, aren’t you Mrs. Collins. Afraid of your own daughter. Why? Because – ” His eyes widen, “Because you might find that all that hate and resentment you have harbored for years may dissipated before her?“

“Oh you are too smart by half, Mr. Curwin.”

“Miranda du Val, the great Angelique Collins—is afraid.”

“I am warning you Evan – my patience only goes so far.”

“Afraid she might actually feel something for her, that’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Her fingers suddenly begin to move as if folding Origami paper . .

Evan Hanley – who is actually Joseph Curwin – quickly counters with his own finger motions. He smiles, “Remember my dear, we both began learning in 1690, together.”

Angelique Collins’ bright green eyes turn harsh and cold, “Alright! I will talk to her.”

“Good—we do not have much time. They have been summoned—and they are all once again returning, very soon. We have only a small window of opportunity.”

“You don’t have to remind me, Joseph. Now the other question is whether or not Peterson can get into the apartment—we need a copy of that map.”

“Yes, well it seems, The Good Reverend and his friend are making a little night call even as we speak.”

Samantha Brook furtively hiding away the bottle of Jameson, makes her way to the front door and slips back out into the rain.

Alison, having finished her song, steps over now and lifts the glass of cracked ice and gin resting on the Marshall amp and takes a drink.

“You my dear Mrs. Collins should only concern yourself with getting the Orb of Solace.”

“Very well – you just make sure you get the map.” She says and rises from the booth looking down at him, her eyes filled with resolve, “I will get the orb back.”

And with a show of her infamous anger, Angelique turns and walks back through the maze of tables, back toward the front door.

She glances at the singer and stops to suddenly motion toward her.

Alison steps over with an air of curiosity. “Yes?” She asks the lovely blonde woman.

“Take it from someone who knows more than you – it would be very wise that you leave town.”

“I am sorry.”

Angelique smiles, “Of course, it is as always your choice.”

Cue Music End of Episode