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Second Chance
By Kay Kelly
Rating: K+ | Status: Complete | Genre:
General | Series: None
Summary: Original Series. Why was Elliot Stokes in Europe in the
summer of 1970, while all hell was breaking loose at Collinwood?
An hour after the climb from the railway station to his host's
chalet, Elliot Stokes was still winded. Every muscle in his stout, aging
body ached. He looked enviously at the man bent over the photographs on
the table. "Etienne DuLac" seemed to have everything: youth,
rugged good looks, sufficient wealth to buy the Alps' most spectacular
view. Why would he want more? In all probability, he didn't.
"DuLac" looked up with a wry smile. "Nice touch," he
said, in suddenly unaccented English. "Posing him with the dated
newspaper, like a kidnap victim."
"His idea, actually. Didn't want you to think the pictures were
taken years ago." Stokes cleared his throat. "Are
you...ah...ready to admit your real identity?"
"Can't see why not." The young man extended his hand.
"Andreas Petofi. I was about to add, 'At your service,
Professor'...but under the circumstances, that might promise too much. I
must give the matter more thought."
"Of course." Stokes forced a smile as he shook the proffered
hand. A hand that undoubtedly wielded all the power of the Hand,
power transferred from body to body after it was once recovered. He
breathed a sigh of relief when his own hand was safely back in his lap.
Petofi looked at the pictures again. Quentin Collins and his aged,
disfigured portrait, photographed separately and together. "The man
isn't a fake," he said, "but the portrait could be. Meant to
lure me to Collinwood. Without the portrait, Quentin's body is less
desirable than the one I have."
"True," Stokes said evenly. "But you're free to probe my
mind in any way you like. You can verify that I, at least, am not hiding
anything. And I have personal knowledge of some facts. That Julia
Hoffman went to great lengths to acquire a certain painting and have an
upper layer removed. That Quentin had amnesia, and the shock of seeing
what was under that upper layer restored his memory.
"I can't swear this is the same painting. But there is evidence he
recovered his portrait. And in this crisis, I don't think he'd play
games."
"Agreed. I'll take your word for it." Petofi dismissed that
concern with a wave of his hand. "I'm intrigued by this 'earlier
reality' you mentioned. You believe all this somehow happened before?
You sought my help, I refused, and Collinwood was destroyed?"
Stokes weighed his words carefully. "I don't claim to remember it.
But Barnabas and Julia were transported--accidentally--to 1995, and
found the place a ruin, still dominated by the ghost of this mysterious
Gerard Stiles. Quentin and a young woman, Carolyn, were insane, the rest
of the family dead or vanished. I was still alive--at least when they
got there--and told them I'd been in Europe when it happened.
"That was the outcome of a history in which Barnabas and Julia were
absent, and we had less warning of the disaster. So this is,
necessarily, a changed history. But I suspect there have been very few
changes. I know I wouldn't have been in Europe this summer, in the
original history, for any reason other than the one that brings me here
now. After the danger became apparent, Quentin confided his secret to
me...told me where he believed you were...and authorized me to offer you
his body, and the portrait, in exchange for your banishing Stiles' ghost
and saving the rest of the family."
Petofi pursed his lips. "I can understand his willingness to make
that sacrifice now, knowing what the future will hold for him if Stiles
isn't defeated. But in the original history...?"
"Yes," Stokes said emphatically, "he would have done it.
He's weary of life. He recently lost a woman he loved very much, Amanda
Harris. After her death, only fear--the word he used was
'cowardice'--kept him from destroying the portrait and ending it all.
Now he's fallen in love with someone else, and he'll do anything to
protect her--"
"All right." Petofi chuckled. "That, at least, sounds
like the Quentin I remember. Never could resist a pretty face. But if
you believe I turned you down in the original history, why expect me to
decide differently now?"
This is it, thought Stokes. Does Quentin know this man as well
as he thinks? He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "Because we have something else to offer
you. Knowledge, of a kind you've always wanted. Knowledge we
didn't possess in the original history."
"Knowledge." Petofi's eyes gleamed. "You'll have to be
more specific. Knowledge...of what?"
"Time travel," said Stokes.
"Ah." Petofi smiled slowly. "That has been a passion of
mine. May I ask what method of time travel?"
"This will sound strange," Stokes admitted. "But we know
it works, because it brought Barnabas and Julia back from 1995. It's a
magical staircase at Collinwood, built by an earlier Quentin Collins in
1840. It apparently pops in and out of existence. It's in the West Wing,
where only Quentin lives. So if you claim his body and impersonate him,
you'll have easy access. Or if you prefer, you can photograph it, study
it, do whatever you choose to enable you to move or duplicate it."
Again, the strange smile. "Just a minute," said Petofi. Stokes
watched uneasily as he rose and left the room.
One minute had stretched into five by the time he returned...and laid a
stack of photographs on the table. Stokes flipped through them, and his
heart sank. Dozens of photos of varying age and quality, taken from
every conceivable angle...all showing a plain wooden staircase that
ascended into nowhere.
"You've known about it..."
"For quite some time." Petofi sank into his chair. "I
discovered it in 1898. I was searching for the portrait, thought Charity
Trask might have it.
"It's always been easy to slip in and out of Collinwood, with whole
wings unoccupied. And I was in a body no one there had ever seen, so if
I'd been caught, I would have been taken for an ordinary burglar. I
didn't find the portrait, but I did find...this."
He sighed. "It's not reliable. You can't trust it to appear when
you need it, or take you where you want to go. And it can't be moved or
duplicated. For what it's worth, I've already tried."
"I see." Stokes tried to mask his disappointment.
Petofi was lost in memory. "But my first little journey was such
fun! The staircase took me to 1692...can't imagine why. Gave me a chance
to do in an old enemy, a warlock who fancied himself immortal. In the
original history he was still alive in 1898, and he'd been a thorn in my
side for years.
"I found him on trial for witchcraft. Guilty, of course, but he
would have been acquitted if it weren't for me. I temporarily possessed
one of the judges, Amadeus Collins. 'Amadeus' gave the most eloquent
performances of his life, in court, and in persuading a member of
Judah's coven to betray him." He snickered. "The girl never
knew she'd been 'brought back to God' by a man who had no more use for
God than her former Master did. Saved her life, though. She bore a
striking resemblance to--never mind, you wouldn't know her."
His smile faded. "I attended Judah's execution in my own body--that
is, the one I'd been using in 1898. He’d never seen it. In fact, he
couldn't have known me personally--I hadn't been born in 1692! But he
looked right at me, and for a moment I thought..." He gave a barely
perceptible shudder, then shrugged it off.
"In any case...I'm truly sorry, Professor, but I've decided I can't
help you."
"I understand," Stokes said dispiritedly. "I didn't think
you would, when it turned out we weren't offering any time-travel
information you didn't already have."
"No, that's not it." Petofi regarded him soberly. "I
could lie, but I see no reason to.
"You're assuming the offer of Quentin's body, and the portrait,
isn't enough. You see my life and think it's highly satisfactory, just
as it is...and you're right.
"But I wouldn't have to assume Quentin's identity! I could choose
to keep this body, and use the portrait to control him. For a person who
enjoys power, the possibilities are fascinating. I assure you, I'm
tempted."
Stokes swallowed hard. "But then why are you refusing? And why did
you refuse in the original history?"
"That's what I'm getting at. My only real question has been whether
you made the offer in the original history. You're sure you did. And...I'm
sure I accepted."
"Accepted?" Stokes felt the blood drain from his face.
"You mean...you agreed to help, and we didn't get back to
Collinwood in time? My God!"
Petofi was shaking his head. "No. I have many powers, Professor.
When need dictates, I can be wherever I wish in seconds. I wouldn't have
waited to travel with you.
"The reason I won't try to help now is that I'm not a fool. I don't
know who Gerard Stiles is, how he became so powerful. But I do know that
in the original history, I tried to destroy him. And he destroyed
me."
(The End)
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