(Back from hiatus!)
Chapter 49: Hold Fast to Dreams
by Midnite
(Nancy Barrett)
“The year is 1897, and the inhabitants of Collinwood may
find that dreams are their only refuge, and death is
as close as a breath.”
Street lamps along the avenue were scarce, but
Barnabas easily maneuvered
through the darkness between them until the raised
voices of an
oddly-matched couple stole his attention. The man was dark and dangerous;
he wore a red cravat and a brimless hat, and the
woman, aristocratic and
fair, was resplendent in an emerald green dress with a
high collar that
hugged her slim neck.
Barnabas watched her shake a head full of yellow
curls before stomping away with the gentleman in
pursuit, and he was
saying, “I don’t understand what kind of game you’re
playing, but if it’s
games you want-”
“You haven’t the faintest idea of what I want!” she
shouted back at
him. Barnabas
sensed no fear in her, yet he could see the man wasn’t
someone to trifle with. He stepped into the radius of light cast from
a
nearby lamppost.
“Forgive my intrusion, but perhaps the lady is in need of
some assistance?”
She stared at him with eyes like blue diamonds. “Thank you,” she replied
coolly, “but I’m fine.”
“I see.” He
hesitated, then asked, “Pardon me, but have we met before? My
name is Barnabas Collins.”
“No, Mr. Collins, I’m sure we haven’t.”
“Really? It’s
just that… your face seems familiar to me.”
The other man was between them now, a storm brewing in
his dark eyes. “The
lady is fine and she doesn’t know you, so you can be
on your way.” He
waved to a passing hansom that immediately came to a
stop, then grasped his
companion’s arm tightly. “Let’s go, Miranda.” She followed him into the
carriage and the pair was soon out of view.
A white fog was lifting as he walked on, his sixth
sense guiding him around
one turn, and then another and another. He passed through a skeletal arch
that led into a park near the Collinsport wharf and
found himself drawn
toward a lone woman seated on a bench. When he was beside her, she said,
“I’ve been waiting for you, Barnabas.”
He glanced away nervously. “What would your friend think about that?”
“He won’t bother us.”
She stood and began circling him.
“What do you
remember?”
He looked back at her and found bits of truth in her
eyes.
“Strong feelings between us,” he replied. “Powerful emotions.”
“Of a man and his wife?”
“No. Of
enemies.”
“I assure you we’re much more than that.” She smiled as if enjoying a
private joke. “We’re
soul mates now.”
“I killed you.”
“A great deal has happened since then.”
He saw himself putting a knife through her heart and
her body behind a
wall. “You
shouldn’t be here.”
She moved closer.
“I’m here because you want me to be.”
She encircled him
with her arms and lips softly traveled across a cheek
to his neck. “Do you
remember this?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her own pale neck was exposed, but he resisted his
gnawing hunger and
instead brought her face in front of his, cupping it
gently, and he
examined it carefully-- it was a face he knew and
didn’t know, familiar but
strange, unchanged yet somehow different. He pressed his mouth onto hers,
and the memories of their violent history yielded to
recollections of
passion and comfort.
She pulled back suddenly and her lips stretched into
a smile. “I
must leave now,” she told him.
“You can’t.”
“I must. But it
won’t be for long.” He tried to hold on
tighter even as
she was slipping out of his arms, but before exiting
she glanced back a
final time to say, “Hold fast to your dreams,
Barnabas.”
~*~
The twin doors were flung open and Quentin strode into
the foyer to find a
startled Magda.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” she asked.
“I must’ve left my manners at the other house,” he
said while venturing
deeper into the drawing room. “I remind you that YOU are the intruder
here.” He
peered into an adjoining room, then asked, “Is anyone else here?”
“Why do you want to know?” she snapped.
“It’s a simple question.” He pointed toward a metal door at the far end
of
the foyer.
“What’s in there?”
“Noth-”
“Why are you here?!” a masculine voice hollered. Quentin turned as the man
descended the last of the stairs. His swarthy complexion and long black
hair contrasted sharply with a white linen shirt tamed
at the waist by a
wide sash.
“Sandor,” Quentin said to him, “Whatever became of gypsy
hospitality?”
Magda continued to regard the visitor darkly. “You want something. Tell
us what it is, then get out.”
“I’m looking for my cousin-- the one I never knew
existed until this
morning. I
missed his big entrance at Collinwood.”
“We don’t know nothin’ about that,” she said. “Now good-bye.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you both were
trying to get rid of
me.” Quentin
squinted from the glare of the setting sun through a picture
window. “But
we’re all friends, so of course you want to help me find
him. Judith
said he planned to stop by today to look the house over,
though I can’t imagine why anyone would be interested
in this eyesore.”
“Magda told you-- Barnabas is not here.” His wife grimaced, and the big
man fell silent.
From his reaction, there was no doubt Quentin heard
the name. “Then he
HAS been by here!”
He sank into one of a pair of tall chairs before
announcing, “I ran out of places to look and there’s
nowhere I have to be,
so I think I’ll just wait here to see if he comes
back.”
“NO!”
Quentin eyed her carefully. “Magda, I’ve never known you to be
nervous. Is all
that spicy food finally affecting you?”
“Your… your * cousin * was here, but he left,” she
explained. “He said he
had to see to some things and it would take all day.”
“Did he go into town?”
“I dunno, maybe.”
“He told Edward he had taken a room at the Collinsport
Inn, but I was just
there and no one admitted to having heard of him.”
“Well it is no good waiting for him here because we
don’t see him no more
today.”
After surveying the Tarot spread on a nearby table,
Quentin plucked a card
from its center labeled “Le Bateleur”. Magda looked pleadingly at Sandor,
who offered, “I remember something now.” He was grinning amicably beneath
a heavy black moustache. “Mr. Barnabas did say he come back tonight,
so we
gonna tell him you are looking for him.”
Quentin stood straight up and glowered at the much
shorter man. “No, you
tell him this:
I’ll be waiting for him at Collinwood because we have much
to discuss. And
if he doesn’t show up, I’ll be back first thing in the
morning, and you can be sure I’ll have the Constable
with me. Are we
understanding each other?”
“Yes, we understand,” Magda answered.
“Good.” And
with that, he turned and disappeared through the doors,
leaving the two gypsies to collapse into each other’s
arms.
~*~
The witch kept watch over the coffin as the budding
dream continued…
Once the cellar door had screamed shut behind him, the
house fell eerily
silent. He
followed a perfume scent into the drawing
room.
“Magda? Vicki?” An alabaster hand jutted out from the side of
a
chair.
“Angelique?”
She threw herself into his arms and kissed him
hungrily. His heart, once
wrung with anguish, flooded with vitality and
warmth. While he had found
little solace before, Barnabas now felt as if freed
from a century-long
imprisonment.
~*~
Nora waited, as she often did. Every morning, for example, she sat in
readiness for lessons to begin, and over breakfast she
had pouted for half
an hour until Victoria acknowledged her, but sometimes
it was more
important to wait downstairs for Daddy to return from
a trip, or in her bed
for sleep to come and Mummy with it, but this time she
did her waiting in a
ruffled dress at the entrance to the West Wing. Jamison often sought out
their uncle, moreso lately than he did her, so there
wasn't a more reliable
spot to await her brother's arrival.
Unfortunately for him, she spotted him first. "What do you want?" he asked
wearily.
"To tell you about Mummy," she said
excitedly. "I saw her!"
His expression remained unchanged. "You dreamed about her again. Tell me
something new for a change."
"I'm trying to.
This time I know she's coming.
Mummy is coming!"
He resumed walking, but she followed, all the while
calling out to
him. "It's
true! I did see her. It wasn't a dream!"
She had him again.
"You saw Mother?!
Where?"
"In my room.
I was in my bed sleeping and... ow!" His hand had sprung
forward, grabbing her arm and pinning it behind
her. "That'll teach you,"
he told her.
"It's the truth, I swear," she sobbed. "Why'd you do that?"
"You'd get it worse if father heard
you." He let her go with a
shove.
"Now go away."
He had started down the hall again, and she watched
him helplessly, jamming
her fists into the pockets of her dress, the knuckles
of her right hand
slamming into something hard. At last she remembered the vestige of her
mother's visit and grasped the object firmly.
"Jamison, wait!
I have something to show you!"
"What is it now?"
"It's called a scarab. Isn't it beautiful?" He turned to see
her holding
it out for him, and its sparkle reminded him of the
moon's reflection in
his favorite pond.
He snatched it up and mimicked his father's actions
when examining a family heirloom. "Where'd you get it?"
"Mummy gave it to me. To prove she's really coming. You believe me now,
don't you?"
He was intently focused on the drawings etched on its
underside. "I think
this is a bird, and that's an eye." He continued to study it
carefully.
"I can't make out the rest.
I think Uncle Quentin should see it."
She nodded hesitantly.
“Then I'm coming with you.”
~*~
He watched the ebb and flow of her breathing as she
slept beside him. Her
eyes opened and she smiled brightly. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Us.”
She snuggled closer.
“Barnabas, you won’t tell anyone about me, will
you? At least
not yet?”
“I won’t,” he assured her, “because I don’t want to
share you with anyone.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Angelique, now that I have you back, I couldn’t bear
it if you left me again.”
“Please be patient, darling. Soon we’ll be together always.”
“Then take me with you.”
“I can’t.”
He wore a wounded look. “Won’t you at least tell me where you go?”
She pressed a finger gingerly to his lips. “Shhh, it’s not
important.” She
climbed on top of him and began kissing his chest, his
neck, his face…
“Barnabas.
Barnabas, wake up! Can you hear
me?”
He was smiling as his eyes opened, but his content
turned to fury when he
saw Magda peering into the coffin. “You fool!
You made her go!” he
shouted as he reached for her neck.
She couldn’t speak, and Sandor screamed in agony. “What are you
doing?! She
can’t breathe! Stop, stop, you’re
killing her!” The vampire
saw that her face had grown sickly pale and released
his grip on her throat.
Magda collected herself, then explained, “I-I come to
tell you that… I come
to say that Quentin wants you at Collinwood right
away. He means to make
big trouble for Sandor and me if you don’t!”
~*~
The agonized wail of a dog pierced the evening quiet
as Quentin paced the
drawing room, and he stopped only briefly to refill
the snifter, both
actions done more out of habit than for any other
purpose. He didn’t know
how long his guest had stood in the doorway, but as
soon as he laid eyes on
him he was certain Judith hadn’t been exaggerating
when she said he had the
same face as the man in the portrait. There was no doubt about it-- it was
as if he had been forged into an exact match of the
original Barnabas Collins.
“Forgive me if I startled you,” the man said. “One of your servants told
me where to find you.
Perhaps I should have had her announce me. I’m your
cousin…”
“I know who you are,” Quentin interrupted, and
gesturing toward the liquor
cabinet, asked, “Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He hesitated, then added, “You asked to see me.”
“Yes, I did.”
Quentin threw himself onto the divan.
“Did you find the Old
House to your liking?”
It struck Barnabas that this earlier version of his
friend was completely
lacking in warmth.
“Indeed I did,” he replied while stepping over to
survey the portrait above the mantle. “It was exactly as I imagined it
would be… from the stories I was told about it, of
course.”
“Of course.”
“Quentin, I doubt you asked me here to discuss my
visits there.”
“No, I didn’t.
I’m going to be frank with you, Barnabas, or whatever your
name is.”
He turned quickly to face him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t know how much they told you last night, but I
recently returned
from a trip abroad.”
“I see.”
“I spent a good deal of it in Europe-- long enough to
know that there is no
English branch of the Collins family and there never
has been.”
Barnabas smiled.
“I’m afraid that is my fault.”
“Oh? How is
that?”
“You see, I’m the last of my line, and I have always
preferred keeping to
myself. I would
venture to guess that perhaps you just didn’t speak to the
right people nor ask the appropriate questions.”
“And you told Edward that you only arrived yesterday
on the Pride of Jamison?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she’s still in port and I checked their
manifest today, but there
was no Barnabas Collins aboard her last voyage.”
“That can be explained easily as well. I traveled under the name of my
former business partner.”
“Now isn’t that convenient?”
“Quentin, I’m curious as to why you’ve gone to such
great lengths to
investigate my whereabouts.”
The younger man was on his feet now. “It’s because I think you’re a liar
and a con artist, and I intend to find out what you
want with my family!”
“I assure you, my motives are quite innocent. I’ve come here in search of
my roots, and the only thing I would consider
accepting from your family is
its friendship, but I never expected to encounter such
hostility and
suspicion from my own flesh and blood.”
“What is going on here?!” Judith shouted from the
doorway. “Quentin, what
have you said to our cousin?”
“It’s all right,” Barnabas told her. “We were just… getting to know each
other.”
“No, it isn’t all right,” she countered. “I apologize for
Quentin.
Sometimes he speaks before thinking.”
“And where are your manners?” she asked her brother
before turning back to
their guest.
“Won’t you sit down, Cousin Barnabas?
I can have the
servants fix us some tea…”
“Thank you, but perhaps it’s best that I take my
leave. I’ll see myself to
the door. Good
night, Judith.” He faced his opponent
once
more. “Quentin,
I’m sure we’ll speak again.”
Judith smiled until he was gone, and then her usual
frown returned. “I
don’t know why you found it necessary to insult
him. If only Grandmama was
here. She knew
how to keep your childish behavior in check.”
“You’re the last person that would wish her back,” he
snapped, and then his
mood became dreamy.
“Besides, if you knew the things she said about… never
mind.”
“What did she say?” she asked eagerly. “Did it have to do with the secret?”
“Grandmama was quite mad. So what does it matter what she said in her
last
days anyway?”
“You’re lying!
If this is another of your schemes to get your hands on my
inheritance, I can assure you it won’t work.”
~*~
He had every quality her father disliked in a
suitor. And that's a good
thing, Charity was thinking. Her path had crossed with that of the Collins
black sheep, who gave new meaning to the term
“godly”. She hoped her eyes
didn't betray her attraction from beneath blackened
lashes.
An errant strand of hair was put back in place. "Quentin, I wonder if you
can solve a mystery for me."
He smiled brilliantly.
"Oh? What mystery would that
be?"
"It's about the room atop the tower. I was sure I saw a light, but when I
inquired about it..."
“No one has been in there in years."
"That's exactly how Miss Judith put it. But..."
Still smiling, he said, "It was probably the moon
and nothing to concern
yourself with.
I hope you’re just as attentive toward my niece and nephew."
She was eyeing him suspiciously. "Tell me, do the Collinses always give
identical answers to questions?" Charity knew what she saw, and she wasn't
going to let this go.
Oh no, fat chance of that.
~*~
There were no mirrors in the tower room. Judith had ordered it, mostly for
reasons involving safety, but the shred of compassion
that remained in her
also wanted to protect her sister-in-law from seeing
how far removed she
had become from the fresh-faced bride that Quentin
sprang on the family.
But because of it, Jenny hadn't witnessed her own
reflection in nearly a
year.
Sometimes, when her mind was especially muddled, she couldn't
remember her own face at all, and it made her feel
alienated from the
others in her universe. "What do I look like?" she would
ask Beth, and she
would receive assurance that she was as beautiful as
ever, but it didn't
put to rest her longing to see her own image... to
look into her own
eyes... to feel real.
This is why she needed her babies so much. Staring into their eyes, she
sensed she was gazing at herself. They were her anchor; they rooted her to
the world. The
tiny beings verified her existence and made her feel less
like a whisper.
Whispers.
Jenny sought out the source of the grim whispers. She was drawn toward the
door, and listened.
~*~
Charity hesitated at the uppermost landing. She raised her lamp and it
threw quivering shadows in the tiny hallway. And that's when the feeling
came that she wasn't alone. The stranger approached from behind, his eyes
fixed on her-- eyes that shined even in the
darkness. She found she
couldn't move, even as his fingers dug deeply into the
flesh on her
shoulders, and knowing he couldn't fight the urge any
longer, Barnabas
parted his lips and bit through her throat though he
hated himself for it.
As he drank, he touched the deepest spaces within her
mind, and her
thoughts became his thoughts. He felt her passion, her eagerness, her
rebelliousness, her greed. And her complicity in the murder of her
father.
But what he failed to sense was that his cousin,
intrigued by what the
young woman told him, had followed her there and
witnessed the attack from
a shadowy part of the staircase.
He was trembling, and he longed for the taste of
brandy to help banish the
fear. And it
didn't help that Grandmama's words were playing in his
head.
"Entombed ... Barnabas Collins ...
1796 ... cursed ... one of the
living dead."
God, he had assumed the old bat was crazy. "The secret ...
if it got out..."
But how could it have happened? I
get it, Quentin told
himself-- he resembled the man in the portrait so
fully because he * was *
that man. But
how long could he stay young like that?
Was he
immortal? Did
he hunger for it as I do?, he asked.
Does he have a
weakness? Is he
as afraid of death and nothingness as I am?
~*~
Beth found her charge sitting very still, and she
called to her but the
woman didn't respond.
The plan had been to collect the dinner dishes and
leave, and she was in no mood to deal with any new
problems. She set the
empty tray down and tried shaking her, but it was no
use, and now she could
see that Jenny's lap was soaking wet. Some people found crocks full of
gold at the end of the rainbow, she reflected, but for
her there was only
more rain.
While retrieving a crisp dress to replace the other
one, she saw black
stars and then nothing.
Jenny stood above her, the useful tray still in her
hands. She frowned and
told her, "You said he wouldn't find me. But I heard him whisper
'liar'."
After tiptoeing over the blood, she retrieved the key carefully
although she encountered no resistance.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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