Chapter 15: The Sick Rose
by Gothick
The Sick Rose
O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
William Blake
Prelude (read by Alexandra Moltke): "My name is Victoria Winters.
Collinwood in the Summer of 1967 stands shrouded in a mist invisible
to the naked eye. We who dwell in the Great House perceive but the
barest twinkling of an eye ... but to one woman who has embarked on
a strange and terrifying journey back to the past, to the year 1796,
uncounted days and nights still must pass ... new horrors must be
endured, new agonies faced, and her own life must hang in the
balance ... as she, a stranger in a sea of familiar faces, searches for the
clue to the survival of another woman ... an innocent ... whose life
could mean the difference between hope and despair for a man she
will come to know and love ... two hundred years in the future ..."
Julia Hoffman paused thoughtfully. Where was she? It was warm, and
the bright sunlight was making her squint. She looked about herself,
puzzled. She was standing in an intricately laid out formal garden, such
as she had visited when she took a year's sabbatical to visit England
and work with her colleague, Dr. Catherine Gale. High hedges
expertly trimmed rose about her, living green walls that seemed almost
to sigh in the rich English summer heat. She was wearing her favorite
electric blue dress, the one with the slightly daring neckline ("Can I get
away with THIS at the next professional conference?" she had
pondered aloud to her companion, with one of her whiskey baritone
chuckles, as she stood modeling the dress the day she had bought
it - he had assured her that her colleagues would thank their lucky stars
she had chosen to enliven an otherwise dull meeting with such a
delightful ensemble.)
She followed the green walls and came to a clearing. And there he
was, standing moodily by a sundial. When he saw her, his face came
alive with smiles, his warm brown eyes shimmering with delight, and
he almost ran towards her with arms extended.
"Julia!" he exclaimed, pulling her into an embrace that set her pulses
raging, but he simply hugged her, and then let her go, to look at her, at
arm's length. "It's been so long!"
"Has it, Barnabas?" she asked, her own voice hoarse with emotion.
"Yes," he murmured, tilting his face so that the word was a delicious
buzz against her ear. He laughed a moment, and smiled fondly into her
eyes, then held up one hand to softly caress her mouth. "And I owe it
all to you..."
His face came towards her, and she felt all her senses soaring into the
most heightened state of awareness she had ever known. He's going
to kiss me, she thought. And it will be the beginning ... of everything I
have ever dreamed ... and of things I haven't even known existed ...
"WHAT do you owe Doctor Hoffman?" The chill voice was like an
icy scythe slashing through the bright midsummer air. "And what
exactly is the meaning of this ... tete a tete?"
Barnabas' face fell, and he and Julia swiveled with comically
synchronized timing to look at the woman who stood, her mouth a
tight line of silent rage, her fists dangerously knotted and clenched
against the sheer fabric of her yellow sleeveless Mary Quant trapeze
mini dress with the huge buttons that seemed to glitter with sinister
power in the tranquil afternoon sunlight.
"Cassandra," he said simply, acknowledging her with an oddly
antiquated, formal little half bow. "I wasn't aware you had taken to
eavesdropping."
Her scowl twisted into a bitter, twisted little half-smile. "I hardly
regard attending to the affairs of my own husband eavesdropping,"
she announced with icy hauteur. "And how are you today, DEAR
sister-in-law?" she purred, and Julia shivered involuntarily.
Why did she call me that? she wondered. But before she had time to
question her, Barnabas took a step towards her:
"Cassandra, why can't you simply accept the inevitable? Must we
continue to play out this game, over and over again, like children on a
merry-go-round? Don't you think it's time we both did something
different with our lives? Even people like us have the need for life ...
for warmth ... for love!"
His words were like repeated slaps across her porcelain-pale cheeks,
and yet they were spoken with utter sincerity. Her lower lip trembled
violently and her eyes seemed to shake with painful, unshed tears.
"Love?" she said, and her voice cracked, half scream, half wail.
"Barnabas Collins, you don't know the meaning of the word love.
You never have, and you never will! You pretended to love me, those
nights in Martinique, yet all the time you were using me ... deceiving
me. You were never aware of what I was thinking or feeling ...
whether I even had a mind of my own. I was just ... just a
convenience to you!"
"Must we go over all this again?" he asked her wearily. Julia tried to
speak, to move, but found herself in a dreamlike paralysis. She
stared, suddenly sensing what was about to come, but incapable of
doing anything to prevent it.
Cassandra shook her head angrily. Her brow glistened with sweat;
her ravenswing black hair, ornately styled in terraced waves bove her
steep patrician brow, shone in the sunlight like a dark helmet, hinting
at the powers of destruction that lurked at her slightest command.
Then she seemed to slump forward. Alarmed, Barnabas rushed to her
side, grabbing her shoulders. "Cassandra! What is it?" he gasped.
Her head hung down, and she seemed to half swoon, as he held her,
and she grabbed onto his arm with one delicate pale hand ... that
suddenly became as sharp and pincer-like as a crab claw. "Nothing ...
DEAR husband," she crooned horribly, her features distended in a
smile that, strangely, grew wider and wider, as she nuzzled his neck
playfully. "Nothing at all ... now that I've got you where I want you.
Haven't you wondered HOW I came back, Barnabas? How I have
been able to live in this time? THIS is what I am ... and THIS is what
you will become!"
The fangs, sharp and lethal, glistened between the two pink lips, and
Julia nearly vomited where she stood as she saw the glossy lipstick
mingled with the gushing fount of Barnabas' blood ... Her own
screams, ragged and tortured, howled in her ears and echoed against
Cassandra's hellish peals of cacchinating laughter as she fell down ...
down ... down ...
Darkness, and chill moonlight shining over half broken grey stones.
Someone calledher name. She turned at the sound of the familiar
voice.
"Vicki! Oh God, I'm so glad to find you!" Julia had no idea why it was
now night and she was in a heavy cloak. Perhaps she had fainted and
Barnabas had brought her here to safety?
"I'm glad too," Vicki said softly. "But you shouldn't be here, Julia."
"I don't even know how ... how I got here!" sputtered Julia, feeling
royally rattled by the whole experience of the past few days. "I mean,
I was having this nightmare where I was back in the eighteenth
century, for starters, and then-"
"Then?" Vicki looked at her cryptically.
"Vicki ... why ARE we here?" Julia asked. "What are we doing
here-in Eagle Hill cemetery, of all places?"
"Why, Julia," said Vicki calmly, "I should think you of all people
would know the answer to that. You know that I have to die."
"You have to ... die?" she felt like an idiot, parroting the words back.
Dear God, none of this made any sense at all!
"Yes," said Vicki, calm and resigned and slightly demented, all at
once. "I have to die to be with him. To be with the man I love."
She had turned, and the moonlight shone on her silken, dark hair. And
suddenly she turned again, and Julia screamed at the face ... half eaten
away, as if the flesh had been gnawed by rats ... the lips shrivelled and
withered ... the teeth ... yellow fangs glistening in the night air.
Vicki, or what had been Vicki, laughed and began walking towards
Julia. "Come ... join me, Julia," she purred seductively. "He wants you
too. He wants you for his latest bride ... Julia Hoffman ... bride of
Barnabas Collins ... bride ... of death!"
Julia's screams rang out again and again, and the laughing fanged skull
blurred and puddled and melted, and suddenly she wasn't in a
cemetery or a garden, but in her own bedroom at Collinwood. And
someone was knocking repeatedly at the door and calling for Aunt
Natalie.
Julia's hand flew nervously to her bosom, to the antique (wrong word,
she thought absently, this night robe is probably brand new) lace
embroidery and satin ribbons that were her attire. "Come in ...
Josette," she called wearily.
A single candle was burning by her bedside, and as Josette rushed to
embrace her, Julia saw the dark rings that circled her "niece's" eyes.
"Oh, Aunt Natalie," Josette exclaimed, "are you all right? I was awake
in my room and I heard you screaming terribly. I can't think why half
the house isn't here to make sure you haven't been robbed and
murdered in your bed!"
Julia stroked Josette's long auburn hair absently. "It's all right, ma
chere," she said, using the endearment she had found so frequently in
the Countess' diary. "A nightmare, that is all. "
Josette gasped. "It can have been no ordinary dream, to have given
you such a fright! Will you read your tarot cards to learn what it
means?"
Julia smiled in spite of herself. The child really was quite endearingly
naive, and she was already feeling an aunt-like fondness for her. "No,"
she said, "but, if you would be so kind as to pour me a brandy-I have
a decanter over there-on the escritoire-and a glass. I think it would
help to soothe my nerves..." The fact was, she hadn't had a cigarette
in days, and it was getting on her nerves more than she cared to
admit. She genially felt as if she would have killed for a pack of
Newport News at the moment.
And all she had on hand was ... tarot cards!
Still, the brandy was good. She allowed herself just a sip, carefully
supporting the delicate little glass with both hands, before she moved
it over to the little table next to her bed. She sat up, pulled the pillows
behind her to support her back, and took both Josette's hands in hers.
The girl snuggled near with one of those little sighs that, Julia was sure,
were regarded by Barnabas as one of her many charming attributes.
"I missed our walk this afternoon, ma chere," Julia said, thoughtfully
beginning the work of untangling Josette's absurdly matted tangle of
curls. Really, it looked as if the child had spent half the day doing
gymnastics, something she knew was impossible. Whatever the
reason, her hair was a rat's nest, and desperately needed the attention
of a proper hairdresser. What a pity darling Pepe was 200 years in
the future ... along with her cigarettes, and so many other things that
made the stress of living somewhat more bearable.
Josette heaved a more profound sigh, and her mouth trembled. "I
really didn't have the heart to go out today, Aunt Natalie..." she
began, "because..." and then her voice broke and she flung herself on
Julia, sobbing frantically into Julia's shoulder.
Julia shushed her, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. She understood how
the girl felt, but honestly, did she have to be so melodramatic about it?
Josette seemed woefully lacking in fibre or backbone. Nevertheless
she did her best to comfort the distraught child. "I know, ma p'tite,"
she crooned. "It's been two days since he ... left us, and Joshua would
only tell us that the ... the interment would be today." She frowned. "I
have no idea why such extreme secrecy must be preserved. I
concocted that story about the plague for the doctor's benefit. I hardly
see what right Joshua had to deny us attendance at dear Barnabas'
obsequies!"
Josette's sobs had calmed into faint whimpering, and now she
swallowed mightily, and lifted her tear-soaked cheeks to grab a small
lace kerchief she had bundled inside one voluminous sleeve. She blew
her nose with ladylike delicacy, and dabbed carefully at her eyes. "I
don't understand it either, Aunt Natalie," she said, "and I found my
thoughts disordered .... my fancies all at cross purposes ... thinking
about him all the day. And tonight," her voice descended oddly in
timbre, "tonight I dreamt of him. That was a comfort ..."
"You ... dreamed of him, Josette?" Julia asked curiously.
"Yes!" She smiled at the thought, and her smile transfigured her face,
making it almost radiant as the dim orange glow of the candle
flickered over the lines grief had left there. "Yes, he came to me,
dressed in a long black travelling cloak, and bade me wait for him.
'Wait for me, mon amie,' he whispered, as he always used to do when
we would speak privately, 'Wait for me ... tomorrow night ... on
Widow's Hill. Wait for me ... and I will come to you!' Oh, Aunt
Natalie," Josette gushed with sudden girlish enthusiasm. "Wouldn't it
be wonderful if it were true!"
Julia felt the blood drain away from her face, and despite the
voluminous robe she wore, she felt as if icewater were pouring down
her back. Abruptly, she hopped out of bed (realizing suddenly that
her movements were too clumsy for those of a proper lady ... but
perhaps Natalie had also displayed a certain decisive awkwardness,
since nobody had commented upon it). The image that came into her
mind suddenly unnerved her. "Josette," she said, turning deliberately
away from her companion, "you ... you mustn't say that. You mustn't
even THINK it! Barnabas ... Barnabas is dead."
She turned to look at the maiden who stood by her bed, looking up at
her, mouth agape, tears welling again in the dark sensitive eyes. "But
he came to me, Aunt! He came to me in my dream."
"The dead don't come back," Julia said abruptly, wishing she could
shut out that taunting voice that cackled in her inner ear: "Oh yes, they
do. They come back, and when they do, they are HUNGRY."
"Josette," she said, with a characteristically sudden change of topic, "I
want us to talk about our plans."
"Plans?" the girl asked, looking up at her vacantly. "What plans?"
"I think with all that has happened here, it would be unwise for us to
stay here much longer," Julia said matter-of-factly. "Your father and I
discussed it today, and we are both of the opinion that you need a
complete change of scene." She fidgeted with the satin ribbons on her
breast, choosing her words with care. "Thanks to the turmoil in
France, we are not welcome at home, and I do not think Martinique
at all the right climate for your convalescence. Andre and I have
talked about London."
"London!" Josette gasped, and her doe's eyes suddenly seemed to
say: are you mad?
"Yes," Julia said firmly. "We can stay with the Hampshires; they are
charming people, and they have enjoyed our hospitality often enough,
the good God knows! Once you are well enough, when it is Spring
and the flowers are out, you can go to parties ... the theatre ... take
the waters at Bath ..."
"Aunt Natalie," said Josette, almost giggling with embarrassment, "you
can't be serious!"
"I am serious," said Julia gravely, lifting her chin and staring at her
"niece." "I have never been more serious in my life. It is my
opinion-and one shared by your Father-that your health-indeed your
life itself-is imperilled if you remain any longer at Collinwood!"
"Really," said the girl, tossing her head with a surprising show of spirit.
"Aunt Natalie, you were right. I have been in bed too long. Tomorrow
I mean to have a council with my Father. I must make him realize one
thing. I would rather die than leave Collinwood now!"
"But-but Josette-"
"Save your breath, Aunt," the girl announced with sudden
imperiousness. "I firmly believe that Barnabas has sent me a message
to wait for him. And I intend to wait for him if it means spending the
rest of my days as a widow at Collinwood!"
And with that, she swept from the room, leaving Julia to sip
distractedly at her brandy, wondering of the futility of trying to
out-manoeuvre Fate.
****************************************
In a slightly shabby room in the Collinsport Inn, a room furnished with
so few of the comforts with which the Countess du Pres had
surrounded herself, it might as well have represented another plane of
existence altogether, two men lay together, innocent of clothing but far
from innocent in heart or mind.
Nathan Forbes ravished Todd Jennings' mouth with a kiss that started
slow, then built to a throbbing climax as their tongues met and danced
and slid around in each other's mouths. Their passion was violent,
covert, and unstoppable. It had gone on for months, ever since that
night at the Eagle when the shy, muscular man-of-all-work had caught
the notoriously dark and roving eye of Collinsport's most dangerously
ambitious man about town. The liaison had continued throughout
Forbes' successful courtship of Miss Millicent Collins; it had
continued in addition to Forbes' many dalliances with various doxies,
hussies and street strumpets. Forbes' sensual appetites were on a truly
epic scale, and it was truly to be regretted that his station had not
fitted him with the means to indulge those appetites with the style and
equipage he dreamt of attaining. Jennings did not care about all the
women; he knew enough of what went on behind his back to know
that he was the only man whose bed Forbes frequented, and that was
all he cared about. The casualness with which men of the 1790s
entered into sexual adventures would no doubt have fascinated Ricki
Lake, but, fortunately for Nathan and Todd, she wasn't around to
interrupt their interlude with her pointlessly repetitive questions.
'Mmmmm," Forbes crooned provocatively, nibbling Todd's ear and
admiring the way the candlelight glittered in his brown, dancing eyes,
"you're like a fine ale that just gets better with every draft, my dear
fellow."
"And YOU, " Todd riposted, grabbing Forbes' ripe and rounded
hind-cheeks with strong, calloused hands, "are like a toper running
four sheets to the wind who doesn't know the meaning of the word
'enough'!"
Forbes brayed loud laughter, caught Todd's hands in his own, and
moved Todd's right hand onto his swelling yard which leapt with
renewed vigor at Todd's slightest touch.
"Yer gonna help me, arentcha, Toddy boy," he grinned, his words
slurring with the effects of too much drink and too much swiving. "Yer
gonna help me get rid of her ... and we're gonna get all the Collins
money ... and go to sea together ... with our own company. We'll see
the riches of Asia and make a fortune!"
"And how are we goin' to do that, Lieutenant Forbes," crooned
Todd, his hand where Nathan liked it best.
"You know. I told you," Nathan said sleepily. "My dear wife is going
to go quite mad. And that will be just the beginning ... just the
beginning ... hmmmmm...."
Nathan Forbes would have laughed with delight at the thought of a
mad, helpless Millicent, had his mouth not been suddenly occupied.
It was shortly before dawn, and Forbes was staggering back to his
lodgings, when he tripped over something. He leaned down, and
gasped. It was a body. And not just ANY body, but the body of one
of the most notorious (and, he thought with a sudden sad stab of
regret, one of the most hot blooded) strumpets in Collinsport. She
was quite dead now, all her gyrations and her laughing gaiety come to
this. Forbes frowned: even in his drunken state he could see quite
clearly that the killer, who had strangled her (the marks were
beginning to swell on her neck) had mutilated her beforehand. Long,
bloody gashes stared at him from the white, exposed flesh of her
swanlike throat He moved her, and her eyes stared stonily upward at
the first streaks of dawn bloodying the sky along the horizon.
And the first streaks of dawn fell upon something else--something
strange and a little exotic at first, yet ultimately familiar.
It was a cane. A man's cane, with a silver wolf's head ornament. And
suddenly things began to become clear in the mind of Lieutenant
Nathan Forbes and he smiled one of the open, guileless smiles that
made him so excessively popular with both ladies and gentlemen.
"Fortune smiles upon Forbes," he murmured, grabbing the stick and
swaggering homeward. He had much to do before the next evening's
fall-but first, sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED ......
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