Shadows on the Wall Chapter Fourteen Part Two

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:  A Sea of Unfamiliar Faces

by Nicky

 

PART TWO: The Past



“Collinwood is suspended now between the past and the present,

because one woman has inexplicably begun a terrifying and dangerous

journey into the past ... back to a foreign century, where she will

uncover the darkest secrets the Collins family holds ... and, perhaps,

the key to saving one man’s bleak existence ... and the future of the

woman he loves ... ” (Voiceover by Kathryn Leigh Scott)



1



Julia was in the void again, somewhere in a vast swirl of icy currents,

with blackness pressing in on her from all around. I don’t remember,

she thought, everything is broken ... I can’t feel anything ... where am

I? She could hear an inhuman wailing noise all around her, a sighing as

though a cacophony of spirits sang nameless, wordless hymns to

some being that surrounded and enveloped them all. I must be dead,

Julia thought deliriously; am I being punished for some transgression?

Is this hell or only purgatory?



“No, André, I don’t think it wise for Josette to leave the house

today.” A woman’s voice, and so familiar, and suddenly Julia realized

why without even seeing the speaker. She sounds exactly like me,

Julia thought, amazed. What in the hell is going on? “Jeremiah has

been dead for two weeks, and already Barnabas has married another.

Her health is too fragile to even consider the possibility.” The woman

(whoever she was) paused, as though listening to another’s response,

and then laughed harshly. “You are soft, brother. Too soft I think.

No, don’t ‘but Natalie’ me. I am Josette’s aunt, and I know what is

best for her, even when you do not.”



She’s talking about Josette, Julia thought, and had she possessed a

body it would have trembled with excitement. The realization that she

had somehow become a incorporeal entity bothered her less than

might be expected; she only wished that her body, wherever it had

been taken, would be returned to her at the end of this strange,

strange journey, preferably unharmed. Whoever she is, her name is

Natalie ... Josette’s Aunt Natalie. Julia pondered this for a moment,

and then remembered La Contesse Natalie DuPres who had journeyed

from Martinique with her brother André and his daughter Josette for the

highly anticipated wedding to Barnabas Collins at the end of 1795.

  

I’m getting closer, Julia realized; she could hear other things now, the

quiet click as the door latched in Andre’s wake; the Countess’ exasperated

 sigh, and the rustle of the many skirts she must be wearing; even the

 relentless pounding of the rain against the windows.



And suddenly she could SEE it, as though she were peering through a

pane of frosted glass. It was hazy, but she could make out the

regal-looking figure of a woman with a thick crop of auburn sausage

curls in a fall around her face and shoulders. She wore an enormous

sky-blue gown with white trim and cuffs and a black cape that flowed

in a river from her neck and puddled on the ground before her. She

had one eyebrow cocked and was staring haughtily at the door

through which her brother must have just departed. It

WAS Natalie DuPres, she was certain of it. There had been a tiny

portrait of André, Natalie, and Josette given to Joshua and Naomi

Collins as a gift for entertaining them while they awaited the wedding

ceremony. Julia’s sense of amazement deepened. I’m seeing into the

past, she thought; I’m actually glimpsing a window into the 18th

century!

Natalie straightened suddenly and shuddered, then looked around

her. The nostrils at the end of her aristocratic nose flared, and she

narrowed her eyes as she rose imperiously from her seat. “Who is in

this room?” she called, turning from the left to the right. “I cannot see

you, but I know that someone is here watching me. Who is it?”



Julia felt a tremor of fear pierce her non-existent core. She can feel

me, Julia thought, and was suddenly very unnerved. She tried to twist

and turn in the blackness that intertwined her, and it was though she

were unexpectedly shoved forward. She heard an enormous sound,

as though a wall of glass had just shattered, and felt a blast of icy

wind, and suddenly she was blinking and coughing ... and seeing the

room into which she had just peered. Except that the Countess was

gone.



“Countess?” Julia called hesitantly, and then blinked. It was her voice

... and yet, it wasn’t either. The timbre was slightly lower, less frantic

than Julia’s voice tended to be. It was a thicker tone, more carefully

modulated with years of culture and training. She glanced down at her

hands, and gasped. They were pale and thin, and emerged from a

rustle of carefully embroidered white lace. This is impossible, Julia

thought, and then laughed throatily; after all, what in this entire insane

experience hadn’t been impossible?



There was no mirror in the room, so Julia stepped to the window that

overlooked the sprawling front lawn of what had to be Collinwood.

She was on the second floor, in what was to become Carolyn’s

bedroom. The sky was black with clouds, and Julia knew from

experience that they would soon begin to spin precipitation;

depending on the season it would be rain or snow. From the look of

the world outside, Julia guessed that snow would soon fall.



But it wasn’t the outside she wanted to concentrate. Dimly she could

make out the ghostly flicker of her reflection. But it isn’t mine at all,

she thought crazily. I’m not looking at my reflection. I’m looking at the

reflection of Natalie DuPres through Natalie’s eyes. I’m inhabiting the

body of another woman!



A knock at the door forced her to spin around with a smothered cry;

I can’t see anybody now, she thought, panic clawing at her breast, I

don’t KNOW anything!



The door opened without another knock, and a luminously beautiful

young woman with round cheeks and a mountain of russet curls glided

in. She was dressed all in black, with a black mourning veil pulled

back from her face so that her enormous brown eyes could peer from

behind black lashes at the world. Her face was pale and creamy, as

befits a lady in her station, Julia decided, and knew even before she

spoke who she was. “Aunt Natalie,” Josette Collins said, and her

voice was reproachful. “Papa says you won’t allow me to tour the

gardens this afternoon with Barnabas, and I don’t see any reason why

I cannot.”

Julia was absolutely speechless. Her mind raced. What had been the

reason Natalie gave André before sending him away? Think, woman,

think! “It will begin to snow soon,” she said without thinking, and

Josette turned away petulantly and glared into the distance. Blessedly

the rest of the information came to her. “You are in mourning, Josette,

for your husband, and Barnabas himself has only just been married

...” She broke off, suddenly aware of the enormity of what she had

just said, unaware that Josette had turned to stare at her curiously.

Barnabas ... married? He had never let on!



“Aunt Natalie,” Josette set, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder,

“are you feeling all right?” The anger in her voice had evaporated and

was replaced with concern. “You look quite pale.”



Julia placed a trembling hand to her head, and began to improvise

wildly. “To be honest, Josette,” she said in a small voice unlike the

trumpeting voice of the woman she had just replaced, “I had a bad fall

only a moment ago, just after your father left me. I’m afraid I struck

my head rather fiercely against the window.”



“Oh, no!” Josette cried, and rained a multitude of kisses upon her

aunt’s “bruised” forehead. “My poor darling! Would you like me to

call a doctor?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Julia said, affecting some of

Natalie’s haughtiness, “but I really don’t feel very well. I ... I’ve been

thinking some of the strangest things the past few moments.” She took

Josette’s hand and squeezed it in her own. “My dear, at first I didn’t

recognize you when you came in!”



“Mon dieu!” Josette exclaimed, and fervently kissed Julia’s hand. “I

wondered at the strange look you gave me when I entered the room.

Natalie, I think that a doctor should be called.”



“No, no,” Julia assured her, “I will be all right, I promise. Just ...

please excuse any strange things I may

sense, or any gaps in my memory.” Please buy it! Julia prayed, and

was startled by another unsettling possibility that had just arisen. She

couldn’t speak French. At all. What if Josette or André started

babbling at her in what was supposed to be Natalie’s native tongue?

If she did the natural thing and fell down in a faint, a doctor would

surely be called, and then what? They wouldn’t commit her to a

sanitarium ... would they? Did they even have sanitariums back then?

But you’re living “back then”, Julia, she thought miserably, and you’re

going to have to be very careful on your toes from now on, very

careful indeed. This “amnesia” charade won’t hold up for very long.



“I shan’t meet Barnabas in the garden,” Josette said resolutely, “if

that’s really what you wish. Besides, you are right, Aunt Natalie.

Barnabas is married now.”



“So he is,” Julia said carefully, “and you must be a lady at all times,

Josette. You must never be alone with him  without a chaperone, is that

clear?”



Josette pouted. “Yes,” she said, doe-eyed and innocent. “But Aunt

Natalie, he had something very important to tell me ... he thinks my

life may be in terrible danger!” Her lips were pursed, and Julia saw

that  she was truly afraid. She scanned her mind for important dates, trying

desperately to remember the day that Josette had died. Of course, it

would do her no good if she didn’t know today’s date, she thought

logically.

“Josette,” she said slyly, “my memory is still a little addled. Could you

remind me, please, of today’s date?”



“Of course,” Josette said. “It’s the 8th of January, in the year of our

Lord, 1796.”



“Oh yes, yes,” Julia said. If she remembered correctly, then Josette’s

death wasn’t scheduled for another two weeks or so. So what was

Barnabas worried about? “I will see Barnabas this afternoon,” she

announced, “in your place. What time did he say he would meet

you?”

2

           

She saw him coming before he even noticed her, and, despite the

thudding awful cliché behind her reaction, her breath was literally

taken away. His hair was carelessly brushed across his forehead in a

style that was very familiar to her (after all, she’d seen him only half an

hour ago ... and two centuries away), but his face was ALIVE,

blooming with life and health; his cheeks, suffering from the sting of

the bitter wind, were blazing red; his brown eyes were moist, and he

was shivering despite the heavy green Inverness cape he had pulled

tightly around him. He clutched his silver wolf’s head cane in his right

hand, and waved impatiently back and forth. Obviously, Julia thought

clinically, he was VERY excited to see Josette.



She had spent all that afternoon in her room, going through everything

that Natalie possessed while, at the same time, making a desperate

attempt to gather her thoughts. Why have I come back to this time?

she asked; he had instantly disqualified the idea that this was all a

dream. Obviously it wasn’t. No dream had EVER been this realistic,

and besides, she already had three or four bruises on her arm

(Natalie’s arm?) where she had pinched herself. If vampires were a

possibility, Julia was forced to concede, then time travel was equally

possible. The only thing that bothered her was the lack of her own

body. Where had it gone? Was it still in 1967? And what had

happened to Natalie DuPres?



Julia had spent nearly an hour brooding over these and other

disquieting questions before she had discovered Natalie’s journal, and

oh, what a boon that had proven to be. It was quite up-to-date (the

last entry had been the night before), and told her almost everything

she needed to know about the Collins family. Natalie’s opinions were

quite frank, and, blessedly, she had NOT written in French. Julia

wondered briefly why that was, and decided that it was better not to

look a gift horse in the mouth. She learned that Joshua Collins,

Barnabas’ father, was a gruff, cold man, his wife Naomi, although

sweet and a  devoted mother to little Sarah, was a burgeoning alcoholic, and that

Abigail Collins was a raving religious fanatic bordering on lunacy. It

had been she who had summoned the Reverend Trask to root out a

witch, although the Reverend himself (a man Natalie regarded as an

utter charlatan) had vanished shortly after Jeremiah Collins’ death at

the hands of his nephew. Julia had digested the entire situation with

amazement. She had no idea so many terrible troubles had plagued

the Collins family during this time.



But she was left with an even darker question. How had Barnabas

become a vampire? He was very reticent on the subject, making

various, cryptic remarks about “the most evil force who ever lived”, a

woman who “reaches out across the centuries now to destroy me”.

Who was this woman? Did she have something to do with Cassandra

Collins, who herself had an inordinate interest in Barnabas, while he

held for her an unfathomable hatred and mistrust?



Barnabas saw her now, and she straightened, preparing to play the

part of the moralizing harridan. When he realized who exactly had

come to meet him, Julia was quite disappointed to see that his face

fell, and remembered that he saw Natalie DuPres (but, a nasty little

interior voice prodded her, would it really make much of a difference?

You’re not Josette, and you never will be, and that’s all that matters

to him, now or ever.) “What are you doing here?” he asked, shock

and suspicion mingling in his voice.

Julia drew herself up importantly, and bowed her head. “Barnabas,”

she said formally, “good evening.”



“Countess,” Barnabas sighed tiredly, “where is Josette? I was

supposed to meet her here.”



“I know,” Julia said, more snippily than she really intended, and

drummed her pointed, well-trimmed fingernails against the stone

bench upon which she sat. Around her, the leafless bushes and

twisted trees rustled secretly. “I deemed it inappropriate for her to

meet you like this. After all, she is a widow and you are a married

man. It is most improper.”



“I think,” Barnabas growled, “that Josette is a grown woman, and she

may see whomever she wants to whenever she wants to.”



“I disagree,” Julia snapped. “Josette is my niece; I have brought her

up since her mother died when she was but a child, and I have nothing

but her best interest at heart.” Barnabas bowed his head, and she saw

that his mouth had curled with shame. Relentlessly, she continued, “I

am very interested in your marriage, Barnabas.” He lifted his head and

stared at her with open-mouthed surprise. She tried to repress a

smile; this is easier than I thought it was going to be! Be careful, Julia,

that little warning voice piped shrilly. You’re on thin ice, and don’t

forget it. She had no idea who “Angelique” was, but she had gathered

that the woman (girl?) had been Josette’s maid (she was mentioned

infrequently at the beginning of the journal, but the last few pages had

been covered with quite a lot of torrid detail; most were vivid

descriptions of Angelique’s enormous blue eyes, how Natalie hadn’t

trusted them, and her blooming suspicion that witchcraft was indeed

being practiced, and that the culprit had lived with them for years)

since Josette herself had been a small child, and she had practically

grown up in the DuPres household. She had accompanied the family

to America for the wedding, and it was intended that she remain as a

servant to the Collins family ... until tragedy flattened them all, making

ashes out of their plans. Josette had married Jeremiah, and almost in

retaliation Barnabas had married Angelique.



“What about it interests you, Countess?” Barnabas asked, his eyes

slitted.



“I believe that your wife is not all she appears to be,” Julia said

haughtily. “I believe that —”



Barnabas was nodding. “I can say nothing about it, Countess,” he

said urgently, and glanced over his shoulder. “But I’ll warn you in

Josette’s stead. I want you to take her away, Countess, as quickly as

you can. She is in terrible, terrible danger.”



“I know,” Julia said.



Barnabas gaped at her. “You ... you know?” he asked, then growled,

“How is this possible?”

She held out the Tarot cards she’d discovered on Natalie’s

nightstand. “The cards have foretold the presence of a wicked woman

in this house.” Barnabas was nodding impatiently. “I read them this

morning and learned that there is a shadow over my Josette, and that

I must protect her at all costs. I believe that this shadow has

something to do with Angelique, and that you are in danger as well.”

“In danger from what?” The new voice, almost feline in its femininity,

was sharp, cruel, suspicious, and above all, instantly recognizable.

Whereas Josette’s face and tone was similar to Maggie Evans, as

Julia first laid eyes on the bride of Barnabas Collins, she knew that

this was not serendipity, no chance coincidence of face and voice.

The woman that married Barnabas Collins, the woman that now

stood before them both with her lower lip trembling furiously, this

woman was Cassandra Collins. Julia knew it, and suddenly

understood. There IS a witch in this house, she thought; a witch in this

house in this time, and a witch in the time I just left.



“Angelique,” Barnabas said anxiously, and Julia wondered if he might

faint, “I ... I happened to meet the Countess in the garden and we

were just ... uh ... just discussing —” He broke off, and licked his lips.

His face was the color of paper, ashen and set.



“Yes?” Angelique asked, her voice thick with cloying sweetness. Julia

didn’t buy it for a moment. She was even more beautiful than

Cassandra, if possible, and she owed most of the difference to the

hundreds of ringlets that were arranged carefully atop her head, the

most brilliant golden color Julia had ever seen. She was delicate in an

olive empire-waisted dress and a gray cape thrown over it; an

enormous white ring encircled her finger, and Julia recognized it

instantly. After all, hadn’t she just seen it on Cassandra’s hand only a

few hours before? “I must say, Countess, that I’m quite intrigued by

your suppositions. If my husband is in danger, I should like to know

from what.”



Julia’s chin was thrust out furiously, and she resisted the urge to bark

out what she knew to be true at her newly found enemy; to do so

would be extremely hazardous, and, more likely, deadly as well. If

Angelique is a witch, Julia thought, (and I have no doubt that she is),

then my life could be in danger as well. And what if Natalie’s body is

killed? Will I change time? And will I even be able to return to 1967?

“The plague,” she said carefully and deliberately. “There have been

rumors of the plague in the village. Ben Stokes brought the news this

afternoon. The village is in an uproar.” Which was true. Julia had met

Ben Stokes only half hour ago, as she’d left her room on the way to

meet Barnabas in the garden. He was an  enormous bull of a man, with a

thick crop of dark brown hair, a mouth that seemed to take up the lower

half of his face, and shoulders that seemed several feet across. Julia had

seen the resemblance to the Professor she knew in 1967 instantly, and

knew at once that he was an ancestor.



Angelique drew a pale hand to her throat and swallowed. “Dear me,”

she said, and her voice was still choked with faux sweetness. “That IS

terrible news. Barnabas?” she said, turning to her husband and

clutching his arm. Barnabas squirmed, and Julia knew at once that he

knew the truth about her as well. That’s what he wanted to

communicate to Josette, Julia thought grimly, but he’s afraid to

actually name her as the witch. She’s probably made all sorts of

terrible threats. “Barnabas, we should take our honeymoon right away

... leave tomorrow! We can sail to Paris and return by early summer,

and by then all these whispers about a plague will —”



“No,” Barnabas said curtly, and shrugged her arm off. He bowed

stiffly to Julia, and said, “Thank you for the warning, Countess. I’m

going into Collinwood now to see my Mother.” His eyes flitted to

Angelique’s, but he said nothing, and left them alone. Angelique

watched him go. Her mouth hung open, and she closed it with a

snap, then glared after him.



“I should follow him,” Angelique hissed, barely able to control her

rage. “I don’t want him to see his Father. You of all people know the

horrible things that Joshua Collins has said against me.”



“Me?” Julia asked with genuine surprise, and Angelique turned to

look at her suspiciously, her golden ringlets bouncing with the jerk of

her head.



“Of course,” Angelique said, then cocked her head. “He’s been rude

to you since the moment you entered this house ... well, he’s been just

as rude to me! He’s threatened to disinherit Barnabas, you know, if

he married me!”



Julia hadn’t known that; Natalie had omitted that detail in the course

of her journaling. “Joshua Collins is a proud man,” she said strongly,

and Angelique nodded. “You would do well to stay away from him

too.”



“I have no intention of running afoul of him tonight,” Angelique

declared, and stalked off in the direction of her husband. Julia

watched her go, and followed her until she was out of sight.



                                                3

“That was incredibly unwise, Barnabas,” Angelique hissed an hour

later. Thunder roared outside, and lightning illuminated the tiny

servant’s room in the West Wing of Collinwood where they now

stood. It had been Angelique’s old room, occupied after the family

had decided to move to Collinwood when the Old House seemed

infested with evil spirits and bad memories. She had lived in it for a

very short time, but she still kept a few of her ... tools available there.

That was how Barnabas had caught her now, stealing into her old

room and removing one of the floorboards to reveal a tiny box. There

were two wax dolls in the box, connected at the mouth and at the

hips; one was obviously a man, with a dark brown lock of hair

attached, and the other a woman, with a red ribbon pinned at the

head. Barnabas’ had ripped them from her hands before she could so

much as utter a cry, and now he stood above her, shaking them at

her.



“I think it was unwise of you to return to this room,” Barnabas grinned

at her blackly. “I had my suspicions, but no real proof of your

witchery.” He held the dolls aloft. “But now I do. Enough proof to

condemn you for the witch you are. They’ll hang you on Gallow’s

Hill, and Josette and I will dance on your grave.”



Angelique’s eyes spit blue sparks, and her hands clenched into fists.

“You sent her away, didn’t you. You went to warn her about me this

afternoon, didn’t you!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “You needn’t deny

it! I can tell by your face. What did you tell the Countess about me?”



He smirked at her. “Nothing,” was the answer.



Her face darkened until it was almost dusky with her rage. “You’re

lying,” she spat.



He ignored her, and instead caressed the dolls. “So,” he said softly,

“this is how you did it. This is how you bewitched them.” He lifted his

eyes to her, and she saw that what she had mistook for quiet

pensiveness was actually a boiling rage that threatened to spill from his

eyes and consume her. “This is Josette’s ribbon, isn’t it?” When she

didn’t answer he shook them in her face and screamed, “ISN’T IT!?”




“Yes,” Angelique whispered, and turned away from him. “It’s hers.”



He stared at her with disbelief. “You’ve ruined all our lives. Josette ...

we were to be married ...”



Angelique whirled to face him and screamed, “Don’t you speak her

name! Don’t you ever speak her name again in this house!”



“I love her!” Barnabas roared back, and Angelique flinched. “Why

can’t you accept that?”



“Because I do not wish for it to be so,” was the sibilant response.

Angelique was panting, and she slammed one curled fist against the

bureau, hard enough to crack the wood. She seemed not to feel the

pain, and stared angrily into the distance. “’Yes, Mademoiselle

Josette, no Mademoiselle Josette,’” she mimicked. “She thought she

ordered me for all those years, but I gave her a life ... one that she

loathed so much ...” She choked on her own poisonous words, and

turned to him with a tiny smile. “For once I would have something that

belonged to her.”



“You are disgusting,” Barnabas moaned.



Angelique recoiled as though slapped. For a moment she seemed

confused, unsure of herself. “No, Barnabas!” she cried, and rushed to

him, trying to embrace him, but he pushed her savagely away. She

stared at him with hurt glistening in her cold blue eyes. “I love you!

Everything I did was for love of you!”



“How can you say that?” he snarled. “Jeremiah is dead because of

you!”



“I never wanted him to die!” she cried. “Oh, you must believe that. I

wanted for him and Josette to go away ... far, far away ... so that we

could be alone ... together, without Josette’s interference.” She stared

at him pleadingly. “Barnabas, please. When we met in Martinique you

saw a woman, not a witch.”



He glared at her. “That witch is still in your heart. You destroyed all

our lives, and yet you have no regrets.”



“I have my regrets!” she protested, but he wasn’t listening to her.



“The night that Josette arrived ...” His eyes stared off into the

distance, reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life. “I

began to choke ... I almost died ...”



“You did almost die,” Angelique admitted quietly. “But then I took the

spell away, and you lived again. I couldn’t watch you die, Barnabas. I

loved you too much for that.”



“The word rots on your lips. You’re not in love with me,” he

snapped. “How can I love you? How can I love someone so evil, so

devious, so calculating? You played with us all like dolls. If Josette

knew who really killed her husband—”



Angelique’s head jerked up. “But she will never know,” she

pronounced, “because if you tell her, Josette will die the most horrible

death imaginable.” She smiled diabolically. “Do you want me to

conjure a vision of her death, Barnabas? It would not be real, but it

could become real very easily.”



“I will have no more of your tricks,” he growled.



“I can make Josette hate you,” Angelique swore, standing before him

and spitting the words into his face. Her eyes blazed at him. “She will

despise you if I will it to be so!”



“So be it,” Barnabas said. “But as long as she is on this earth I will

never love another. And that is the fact of it.”



“That’s not what you said in Martinique,” Angelique said darkly.

“That’s not what you whispered in my ear.”



“That was different,” Barnabas said, and for the first time there was

guilt in his voice. “I ... I didn’t know how Josette felt for me. And

when she went to France, I thought I’d never see her again.”



“Lies,” Angelique spat, and stalked away from him. “All lies!”



“Angelique,” Barnabas said carefully, and his eyes never left the place

on the wall where they were fixed, “I will allow you to leave

Collinwood tonight if you swear never to return. Father will see that

the marriage is annulled. I’m going to give you a thousand dollars,”

Barnabas said, “and then I’m going to allow you to pack all of your

things and be out of Collinsport by tomorrow morning.

You’ll go to Boston of course, and from there you can go anywhere

in the world.” His voice was so tender, she thought, agonized, so very

tender. But I’ll never hear that tenderness again.



“And then what?” she asked.



“I’ll go to Josette,” he said, “and I’ll explain everything.” He raised the

wax figurine wrapped in Jeremiah’s missing handkerchief. “When she

sees this, she’ll understand.”



“And you’ll marry, I suppose,” Angelique mused.



“I will try to win back her respect,” Barnabas said, “and then her

love.”



“And if I refuse your offer? If I refuse to give you up and decide to

remain the mistress of Collinwood?”



“Then I will take these dolls to the bailiff in Collinsport,” Barnabas

said in that same, calm infuriating tone, “and they will hang you for the

witch you are.”

“No,” she said, and there was no fear, no anger, and no hatred in her

voice. The word slipped from her lips coolly, with no emotion

couching it whatsoever. She darted forward so quickly, with the

speed of a viper, that Barnabas really didn’t know what was

happening. She leaped forward, her hand outstretched, and he saw

that she clutched a little knife that she’d used to carve the doll.

But he was quicker than she, and clutched her wrist, grinding the

delicate bones with his enormous hand. She struggled valiantly, the

knife reaching for his chest, reaching hungrily, awaiting the splash of

blood that would feed its hunger and her own as it would plunge into

his chest. Thunder crashed beyond them, shaking the great house to

its foundation, and in the moment that Barnabas twisted her arm, the

knife plunged into Angelique’s breast — and into her heart.

He stared down at her, his face washed out and blank. Her eyes were

looking upwards, wide and blue, and when they focused on him it

seemed as though she were smiling. “You think I’m dying,” Angelique

whispered, and a bubble of blood formed between her lips. A

moment later it burst, and a crimson dribble ran down her chin. “But a

true witch can never die. The Master protects his handmaidens well.

But mark well my face, for you will see it again.” She swallowed, but

it did nothing to ease the painful dryness in her throat. Her chest

burned, and one hand idly caressed the haft of the blade that grew

like a great terrible blossom from between her breasts. “I set a curse

on you, Barnabas Collins,” Angelique croaked, managing to raise her

right-hand index and middle fingers and thumb in a crooked gesture.

Her voice grew shill with an anger that began to blaze in her heart,

even as her lifeblood was pumped out in a scarlet gush. “You will

never rest. And you will never be able to love anyone, for whoever

loves you will die. That is my curse, and no one will undo it!” Her

eyes glared furiously into the darkness beyond Barnabas' head. She’s

dying, he thought with relief. She’s dying . “You will live with it

through all ... through all ...” Her eyes closed, and she sank back onto

the floor. “Eternity ...” she wheezed, then her mouth closed, and a

great spasm ran the length of her body. Her hands clenched into a fist,

and then relaxed and lay limply at her side. Her eyes still glared, and

her mouth hung slack, but Barnabas knew that she was dead. Finally,

blessedly dead.



She is dead, Barnabas thought, and knelt beside her. He stood up

hurriedly, unconsciously wiping the scarlet that stained his hands onto

his black breeches and took several steps backward. Her body must

not be discovered, Barnabas thought, and ran from the room.



The next work of the next several hours brought Barnabas late into

the morning, and when he finished, it was only an hour until dawn. But

he stared at the new brick wall and smiled. She’s gone forever, he

thought. No one will find her body, and they’ll never question why the

room has been bricked up. His smile grew. It’s well known that

Angelique wanted to forget her past life, and this room bothered her

especially. Why wouldn’t she wanted it bricked up and forgotten?



“Barnabas,” Julia said from the doorway, “you cannot do this.”



“Countess,” Barnabas said, and his voice was dead. “What did you

see? How much do you know?”



“All of it,” Julia said. She had indeed been lurking without the room

for the entire conversation, afraid to interrupt, afraid that changing the

natural flow of time would trap her forever in a giant cat’s cradle. She

had followed Barnabas, just as he was following Angelique back to

her old room, and had overheard everything that had transpired ...

including the curse. I couldn’t stop it, Julia thought wildly, but was

pacified by another, calming thought: suppose that, whatever strange

forces sent me back here, they never intended me to do that?

Suppose I’m just here to watch, to observe how these events

originally played out? I know what I’m dealing with, should I return to

the present; I know that Cassandra is really Angelique

Collins, and that she is a witch, and that she’ll resent my experiments

should she discover them. I know the REAL Barnabas, the gentle

young man he was before the curse, and that is to my advantage as

well.



“Then you know what she was,” Barnabas said grimly. “She will rest

peacefully behind that wall for the rest of eternity, and no one will ever

know.”



Julia gestured helplessly, and longed for a cigarette. “What will you

tell your father? Your mother?”



“Father already thinks she was a gold digger,” Barnabas said, and

added sadly, “How I wish that were true. It would be so much

simpler ...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. He’s in shock, Julia

thought clinically; if only there was something I could administer her.

Alas, she realized, all her sedatives were in her black bag in her room

... one hundred and seventy-five years in the future. “I’ll tell them that

she took a thousand dollars and ran off in the night. They’ll want to

believe that.”



“You won’t tell them ... what she was?” the faux Countess asked.



“I hadn’t thought about it,” Barnabas said. “I will tell Josette, of

course. I want her to know ... I want her to know that I always loved

her, even when I thought she’d betrayed me.”



Julia felt something stir and crack within her. My god, she marveled,

he really does love Josette. He really and truly does. An

uncomfortable feeling, too close to shame for comfort, stirred like a

serpent in her belly. I was going to use the experiments to force

Barnabas to marry me, she thought sickly. What was I thinking? “I

will back up whatever statements you care to make,” she said tightly,

so that he would not discern the tears that threatened to crack her

voice and leak from her eyes.



“Thank you,” Barnabas said wearily. “Can you leave me alone for a

moment, Countess? I ... I want to clean up.”



“Of course,” Julia said, and left him, pausing at the staircase only for a

moment. Their eyes met — his were dark and haunted, and Julia

knew that they hadn’t been when he’d met her in the gardens, and she

also realized that they were the same eyes she had confronted a week

before, at the Collinwood in her time. I want to help him, she thought

desperately, and then, resolutely, and I WILL help. As god is my

witness, I will give Barnabas Collins the life he never had.



He watched the Countess go, and then faced the room that held the

earthly remains of his wife the witch. He still couldn’t fully understand

or believe the events that had transpired in the past hour or so. It all

seemed so unreal. Was he really a murderer? Was Angelique really

dead? Was it still possible that this was some insane dream? No, he

decided, this was no dream, and Angelique was most assuredly dead.

With her death, I am free, he thought, and allowed himself a tired

smile. From now on I will look only to the future ... a future with my

Josette.



Something stirred behind him, some sound that made him pause and

stare ahead with the hair on the back of his neck prickling and his skin

tingling.



Something is watching me, he thought, something is staring at me.



Suddenly the entire house seemed much too quiet.



I don’t want to turn around, he thought irrationally, I don’t want to

see it, I don’t want to, I don’t want to ...



But when the screaming began, the shrill, terrified screams like those

of a woman in pain ... or anger ... he had to turn around. He couldn’t

help it.



The bat that roosted above the doorway lifted its enormous head and

blinked its ruby eyes. It screamed again, its fangs glistening, sharp as

knitting needles, then it fluttered its wings and simultaneously let go of

the doorway. Six feet, Barnabas thought in dazed horror, its wingspan

is at least six feet ...



But then it was flying directly at him, screaming and screaming and

screaming, and he tried to throw his hands forward to ward it off, but

it was no use. It struck him, knocking him to the floor, and he could

smell it. The scent of the bat hung around it like a shroud; the odor of

garments smothered in dust, the frigid essence of a tomb, the wilting

stench of decomposition. His head struck the floor sharply, but before

he could cry out, the bat’s mouth latched onto his neck. The pain that

flared in his throat in a great red sheet as it sank its deadly fangs into

the flesh and ripped apart his jugular vein in a gout of red, numbing his

entire body as fire coursed in his veins.



It’s drinking me, he thought hysterically, and tried vainly to beat it off,

it’s drinking my blood, oh my GOD ...

Gradually his attempts became weaker and weaker, and soon his

hands, the warmth and feeling departed, fell limply to the ground and

lay there, like dead fish. His mouth gaped, and the only sound he

could hear was the ghastly sucking sounds. Foul spit mingled with his

blood and ran in a great puddle on the floor.



At last it stopped. The bat lifted its head, releasing its fangs quickly

and painlessly, and began to beat its great wings. A moment later, it

had vanished entirely. But before the shroud of darkness fell and

death overcame Barnabas Collins, he seemed to hear a woman

whispering ... whispering ...

The curse, my husband ... the curse, Barnabas Collins ... the curse ...


Julia heard the screams as she was descending the staircase, and a

wave of whitehot fear descended over her in a smothering pall. I

never should have left him alone, she thought dazedly, and was

running back up the stairs even as she heard the startled cries from

below.



She saw him as she threw open the door to the West Wing, and

uttered a shrill scream of horror. He was crumpled next to the newly

bricked up room, but that wasn’t what had elicited such a scream of

shock:  the disgusting, monstrous bat that crouched over him with

blood leaking from its jagged fangs, its feral eyes glaring at her redly.

It shrieked again, then launched itself off of Barnabas’ body, directly at her.

She fell back, screaming hysterically (six feet, she thought, over and over;

its wingspan was at least six feet), but when she opened her eyes, the bat

had gone. There was no trace of it.

Barnabas moaned, and Julia dropped to the ground next to him.

Already her tears had spilled off her face and mingled with the blood
running in freshets from the huge tear in his throat. His eyes stared
upwards, but she knew they saw nothing. “Oh, Barnabas,” she
choked, and took his hand.

“Angelique,” he whispered. “She ... she sent a bat ...”

“Don’t try to talk, Barnabas,” Julia sobbed. “Please ...”

“Aunt Natalie?” It was Josette, calling from the doorway leading to
the West Wing. “Aunt Natalie, I heard screams ...” Then Josette saw
the tableau spread out before her, a picnic from a nightmare, and with
her own piercing shriek she fell to the ground next to Barnabas,
planting kisses on him. “No, Barnabas!” she moaned. “No, you
cannot die ... not now ... not now that we have each other again.”


Barnabas tried to smile, and lifted one dead-white hand to her face,
and stroked the smooth curve of her cheek. She took it in her hand
and kissed it fervently. “I shall love you forever,” he whispered, and
then his eyes closed, and he fell backwards, and Julia knew that he
was dead. 

To Be Continued ...