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The Unknown
Rating: K+ | Status: WIP | Genre:
Supernatural/Mystery | Series: None
I The year was 1905 and Quentin Collins was alone, depressed and completely bored. That was probably why he had agreed to such an idiotic idea. Why in the world did he want to be someone’s guinea pig? "More Brandy darlin’?" Quentin looked up at the busty waitress. The lady’s accent was reminiscent of Charity when Pansy Faye had possessed her. She was pretty, in a London trollop sort of way, but even she couldn’t lift his spirits today. Sliding the glass towards her he sighed. "Sure… why not." As she poured him another glass his thoughts wandered back to yesterday evening. Why did he always make spur of the moment choices while sloshed? It always led to trouble; you’d think he’d know better by now. Taking a sip of his newly refreshed brandy he wondered if he’d ever learn. He doubted it. ‘Imagine! Me agreeing to be part of a researchers’ experiment in the supernatural. This fool is actually trying to prove that ghosts are only a part of the human mind!’ He obviously hadn’t been to Collinwood. It had struck Quentin funny, in an ironic sort of way, when Mr. Feld had approached his liquor-induced self late last night. Feld had had no idea who, or what, he was talking too. But could he just decline the man's offer? Nooooo... he had to play along with the scientist, actually agreeing an experiment intended to answer a question that he already knew the answer to. Well, at least it would give him something to do. He’d been bored out of his mind the last few months. "It’s all mind over matter" the scientist had told him, with complete confidence in his theory. Quentin had smirk and replied "Oh, really?" Removing a piece of paper from his pocket, Feld scribbled on it quickly and then handed it to Quentin. "Come to that address if you are willing," he’d said, pointing to the small piece of paper. "I think you’ll find it… quite interesting." The burn of the brandy down his throat brought Quentin out of his reverie. He rolled his eyes. ‘I am such an idiot’. Hearing the sound of rainfall Quentin looked out the window and watched the rain cascade down the glass, the drops of water glistening in the light from the inside of the pub. Typical London weather. It reminded him very much of home, a place his thoughts often wandered these days and he wondered why. He’d hated it there, and had such horrible memories of that place… so why did he miss it so much? Collinwood. The house forever seemed to beckon him, and no matter how fast he ran it always was never far behind. Collinwood casts a long shadow. 'How right you were Beth, how right you were.' 1897. That fateful year seemed like so long ago, a lifetime. Yet it had been a mere eight years; not even a decade. Paying for his drinks he left the small pub, named The Ship and Shovel. It was part of the pub-crawl that followed London’s underground circle line. Deep in thought, Quentin stepped out into the dreary weather and let the raindrops fall upon his face, his long coat getting quickly soaked as he walked the dark and deserted sidewalk. He thought of Lenore, his beautiful baby daughter, who was no longer a baby. She would be eight years old soon – her birthday in a few weeks. He hoped that she was happy. Did she still look like Jenny? And Jamison… he’d be all grown up now, turning twenty this year. Would he be like Edward? Quentin smiled to himself at the thought; he had spent so much time with Jamison when he was young. Jamison loved Quentin’s stories, and enjoyed the adventurous hikes they’d take on the Collinwood estate. They’d had a lot of fun together, unlike Edward’s cold approach to fatherhood. He could never recall Edward taking Jamison anywhere, or doing anything with him.
‘Jamison was always more like myself…’ Quentin shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the idea that followed his last thought. It had always popped up from time to time, relentlessly reminding him of when he'd been young and innocent… too young, too innocent. No, he wouldn't think about that now. Later. Reaching the Inn that he had currently taken residence, he stepped inside, removing his drenched coat and making his way to his room. He had to get some sleep… Dr. Feld wanted to start his experiment with ghosts tomorrow, and Quentin had the distinct feeling that it was going to be a long, long day. II He looked up at the small house as he stood at the edge of the cobblestone street. It looked normal enough, but he mentally kicked himself again for getting himself into such a thing in the first place. He sighed; his breath forming a cloud of mist in front of his face. He rubbed his hands together for warmth. He supposed deep down he knew the answer… he was terribly bored. And for him, boredom was not a good thing… it allowed time for his mind to spiral down into depression, which lead to many dark days and nights filled with nightmares and drinking. He was the type of person that always had to be doing something, which is probably why he always inevitably found himself in trouble. Even with his long, heavy coat the wind seemed to cut through him. "I hate England," Quentin said flatly to himself as he walked slowly to the door, giving the handle three steady knocks. A woman answered the door, which Quentin guessed was Feld’s maid. "’Ello. May I help you, Sir?" She asked pleasantly. Quentin smiled. "My name is David Towne. I’m here to see Dr. Feld," he said, using his most recent alias. "Yes, he’s with the rest of the group downstairs, Sir," she said as she let him in. "You can find the rest of the group down those stairs and to your right." "Thank you ma’am."
Quentin entered the room, finding Dr. Feld with six others, men and women, standing and sitting around a table in the middle of the room. "Mr. Towne, there you are! We’ve been waiting for you. For a minute you had me thinking you’d changed your mind," Dr. Feld said in way of greeting. "Oh, but I'm so curious to see how this all turns out," Quentin replied, somewhat sarcastically. If Feld noticed, he let it slide. "Well now that everyone’s here, let’s take a seat and get started," Feld said, not wanting to waste any time. Everyone took a seat, and Quentin paused a moment taking in the room, before he removed his coat and seated himself in the closest available chair, hanging his coat off the back. "I’d like to start off with some introductions. We’ll all be spending a lot of time together during the duration of this experiment, so I think we should get to know each other a little better." Quentin groaned inwardly as he looked at the others around the table, at least he wasn’t the only idiot that got roped into this ridiculous experiment. Besides Dr. Feld and himself there were four other men, and two women… one of which he took notice to immediately. She was strikingly beautiful with fiery red hair and delicate feminine features, topped off with a smooth, milky complexion. She seemed to be in her mid twenties. ‘Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,’ Quentin thought, his mood cheered. His eyes stayed on her as Dr. Feld continued to talk. "As you all know by now, my name is Dr. Alan Feld and I selected the seven of you to help me conduct a most important and groundbreaking experiment exploring the human mind and it's connection to the supernatural." "May I ask just how you went about choosing the six of us out of all of England, Mr. Feld?" Quentin asked, instantly suspicious. He was more than a little curious as to what Feld's answer would be. The others around the table seemed eager to know the answer to that as well. Dr. Feld looked at Quentin in an odd way; it was a look Quentin could not describe… and he didn’t like it. But the look only lasted a moment, quickly replaced by a friendly smile. "I was looking for a specific personalities; people with certain ‘qualities’. All of you here today are like night and day to each other. I needed a random sample, I suppose you could say, of people with different backgrounds, personalities and beliefs. I think I’ve achieved my goal." Quentin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. "You just met us. How could you possibly know our personalities?" Another older man spoke up in agreement. "Yes, do explain Dr. Feld. As I recall you and I couldn’t have spoken for more than five minutes." "Well, it’s written all over you… who and what you are." Quentin looked up when Dr. Feld had said what you are. Feld faced Quentin again, his eyes scrutinizing. "For instance, the fact that you, David, are a very insecure and suspicious man is evident by your behavior right now." Feld turned towards the other man. " And you, Thomas, are interested in knowing all the facts before getting into something." Quentin shut his mouth abruptly, taken aback. He didn't trust him, but he couldn't deny that Feld was rightl; he had always been a suspicious man, and with good reason. "So, let’s get to those introductions… shall we?" Feld continued. "You Sir." He gestured to the man to his immediate right. "Why don’t you start? Tell us your name and a little about yourself." III Quentin sat in his hard wooden chair as he looked at the others in silence. "Go on, tell us a bit about yourself," Dr. Feld prodded the first man. The man introduces himself as Eric Hammond. He looked to be in his early forties. He told everyone he had a wife named Julie and a fourteen year old son, Todd. The next man was the older gentleman who’d spoken before. He was married with no children, and was retired. His name was Thomas Hoffin. The third was a rather stern looking woman who immediately reminded Quentin of his sister Judith. She was, not surprisingly, never married and had no children. Her name was Jane Marsh. Next was the man sitting next to Quentin. He looked to be about the same age as he with blonde hair and green eyes. He was just recently married and Quentin could tell they were still in the newlywed stage where they just couldn’t get enough of each other. His name was John Summers. Quentin was next… ‘What am I going to say?’ he thought to himself, settling on giving them a censored version of the truth… if he had to. He noticed everyone was staring at him and spoke up quickly. "I’m uh… David Towne. I’m from America, and just recently arrived in England." Quentin stopped, not wanting to say any more. However everyone still looked at him expectantly and Feld attempted to probe a bit deeper. "So… do you have a wife Mr. Towne? Children?" Quentin’s mind started to slip back into the past and his face clouded over. When he answered his voice was odd… flat. "I had a wife, daughter and son. They’re dead." Quentin surprised himself, telling them his daughter was dead too… though it wasn’t true. His wife and son, yes... but not his daughter. "Oh," Feld replied, seemingly embarrassed for hitting such a touchy subject so soon. "I’m terribly sorry, I had no idea." "Oh really. Well how did your perception, that worked so wonderfully to choose us, miss that little detail?" Quentin said bitterly. He knew he was being rude, but thinking about the past always seemed upset him, and besides… he didn’t care what Dr. Feld thought of him or his manners. Quentin turned away from Feld and he found himself looking into the deep amber eyes of the red head; they were filled with sympathy. She was fascinating to him… there was something about her, something unusual, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She offered him a small smile and asked him, "What do you do for a living?" Oh, but she was a sweet thing… he found himself smiling back at her in return. "I’m a writer." "How interesting." There was an attraction, Quentin was sure of it. The next man went; he was in his thirties and had brown hair and eyes. He was a lawyer and obviously well off. He had a wife, son and daughter. Quentin envied him… the man had all the things he had lost, and quite an attitude to top it all off. Quentin could tell that he wasn’t going to get along very well with him; Gregory Pitt. Next and last was the redhead Quentin had enjoyed eyeing most of the night. Her name was Sofia Elaina, she was unmarried and had no children. She was an at home nurse for an elderly man in London. Dr. Feld smiled after she finished. "So now that we’ve all introduced ourselves I think it’s time we get to business. We’re here to delve into the human mind… the supernatural… and unlock the secrets that both guard so closely. We’re going to enter the unknown." Quentin walked along the foggy and abandoned streets alone, pondering over what happened at Dr. Feld’s less than an hour ago. Something was tugging at his mind, teasing him. There was something not quite right about his whole thing… but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He didn’t trust Feld. Quentin reached up and pulled his coat tighter around him, feeling a chill. He thought suddenly of the red head… Sofia. He wanted to get to know her better. She was different somehow, different from the others and different from himself. He could sense it; something he’d always had a knack for, but a sense that had gotten stronger after he was cursed. In 1897 he'd known that Laura was no longer the same after her return from Egypt. He could feel it as soon as he saw her that terrible day, standing in the drawing room of Collinwood. A dead woman. Dead. Ashes. Gone. But there she was, looking just as she had before, giving Quentin a smugly amused look at his horrified expression. His thoughts returned to his problem at hand. He needed to stay alert; he couldn’t let his guard down around Feld… or any of the others, for that matter. He reached his apartment at last, opening the door and stepping inside. He hadn't felt like going out tonight… alone… so he scrounged around his small apartment until he found something halfway edible. Sitting down on the couch he relaxed and chewed on a piece of leftover chicken from the night before, as he sipped on a full glass of brandy.
She stood before him suddenly -- out of nowhere. A small girl, around seven or eight. A beautiful little creature with auburn hair and bright blue eyes… where had he seen those eyes before? Where? Where? Where? The girl stared at Quentin sadly. "You left me," she accused. Quentin blinked, bewildered and confused. He knew this little girl somehow…. a thought started to take form in his mind. "Who are you?" he whispered. But she didn’t answer. She didn’t hear him. She was already gone. To Be Continued |
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