Chapter 21 - At Death's Door
By Nancy B
VOICEOVER (Humbert Allen Astredo): For three women, this has
been a night of changes at the Great House at Collinwood. For all
three have encountered death this night in some form. He has taken
their hands, whispered in their ears, and brushed their
cheeks with His frigid kiss. And each woman will deal with the
terrifying rendezvous in her own way - but none of them will ever be
the same…
Cold. Bitter cold. It penetrated her until she knew nothing but cold. It
became one with her, and there was nothing else but the cold.
Nothing but the darkness. It was complete and utter like the cold. She
was the darkness, and she was the cold. And they were her.
And then, the light. A light that was as complete as the dark and the
cold had been. A light that was absolute. Pure and as brilliant as
sunshine glancing off newly fallen snow. Now there was nothing but
the light and the physical sensation of traveling toward it at breakneck
speed. It reminded her of the time her parents had taken her to the
state fair when she was six. She had begged for a pony ride, and after
exchanging dubious glances, her parents had reluctantly consented.
She had clambered excitedly up onto the pony’s soft, warm back and
grabbed the reins, ready to be led slowly along the track. But an
errant firecracker had spooked the pony (Pumpkin, his name had
been Pumpkin, that seemed to be important right now), and he had
taken off like a shot with her holding desperately on to his back, eyes
scrunched together, head buried against his rough mane, nails dug into
his fur. She had been terrified.
Yes, the sensation reminded her of that, only this time, she wasn’t
afraid. She welcomed the journey. The intense light should have
blinded her; it should have emitted heat that scorched her skin.
Instead, it caressed her, soothed her, lifted the cold that had
ensconced her.
She felt a prickle and realized that she was hearing sounds, voices that
were very far away from her. The words gradually floated closer, and
she began to catch one here and there.
“…been waiting…”
“So wonderful to see…”
“…love you, darling…”
The voices were soothing, melodious, and evoked the memory of a
bell choir she had heard her friend Mary play in once. They grew
closer still until she realized that she recognized who was speaking to
her.
“Welcome! How’s my baby girl?” Father’s voice!
“Hello, my darling.” Mother!
“Hey, Rusty, sure has been a long time.” Ray using his nickname
for her, Rusty – because of her freckles. She had always hated it.
But behind these peaceful words, she could hear a cacophony of
other voices with an entirely different timbre. Loud, frenzied sounds
that buzzed around her and dragged her away from the sweet voices
she wanted to attend to.
“…God, Eliot, she’s…”
“…must not die…”
“What should we…”
The light was gone. She could no longer hear the angelic sounds of
her family welcoming her to this new and blissful place. She could see
again, and what she saw made her gasp. She saw herself lying on
Josette’s bed, cradled in Barnabas’ arms. That sight should have
thrilled her, but instead it horrified her. For the body – yes, it did look
like just a body - that lay limp in Barnabas Collins’ arms was as
pale, as lifeless as one of the many cadavers she had practiced upon
in medical school.
That can’t be me.
But it was.
She looked down at Barnabas (she sensed that she was floating near
the top of the room) and saw his panicked face, his frantic efforts to
revive her. Eliot was there and Quentin as well, all talking at once, and
the frenzy in the room seemed to coalesce and shimmer in a milky
cloud that rose to the ceiling to meet her.
“Julia! JULIA! She’s dead, Eliot, she’s dead,” Barnabas moaned.
The haunted expression on his handsome face made her heart ache.
She had to put an end to this now, to let them know she was all right.
I’m not dead, Barnabas. I’m right here.
No response. No response because she hadn’t said anything – not
out loud. She tried again. And again. But the men in the room heard
nothing. She tried to move her mouth, to move her arms and respond
to his touch, to assure him she was still alive, but her body remained
without animation. She began to panic. She wasn’t dead – why
couldn’t she make them understand that?
An acrid smell assailed her nostrils, something decayed and dead and
hateful, and then she felt a tremendous push. She felt herself
plummeting down, down, until she once again felt the weight of her
body trapping her spirit, confining it in its shell of blood and bone, a
cage of which she had never before been aware. She felt as if she had
been plunged very deeply under water, and she came up sputtering
for air, convulsing violently in Barnabas’ arms.
“Julia! Eliot, she’s alive! She’s going to be all right! She’s not going to
become…Julia, speak to me.”
She looked up into his careworn face and thought that he had never
been so dear to her. She struggled for breath and could hear Eliot’s
confusion in the background, “How odd. I could have sworn that we
had lost her.”
Julia’s world swam, and she once more lost her fight to maintain
consciousness. “Julia!” Barnabas snapped as she crumpled back
against the pillow.
Stokes rushed to the bed to check her pulse. “Thready,” he
pronounced solemnly. “She won’t live through the night. And if she
dies…. There is only one choice, Barnabas.”
“Yes,” Barnabas acknowledged, his gaze trained on something in the
distance as if hoping to find a different truth there. “Destroy Jennings.”
“It must be done as soon as possible. And I am afraid that it won’t be
easy. We cannot afford to wait until the dawn when he is immobilized.
We must face him as he walks the night.”
“Wait a minute,” Quentin interjected with more than a little panic in his
voice. ‘We can’t just leave Julia like this! She could die at any
moment. We have to get her to the hospital!”
“It’s too late for that, Quentin. They can’t help her now. We need to
break the vampire’s hold on her – permanently. He intends to make
her his bride and will stop at nothing to do so. I still think we have
some time before he comes back to claim her; he will have much to
do. Barnabas, do you feel comfortable staying here with Julia while
Quentin and I go to gather what we will need to face him?”
Collins looked up into the owlish eyes of the portly professor. “Yes, I
will stay with her. I owe her that much. I owe her so much…” His
voice trailed away as the other man reached into a deep pocket.
“Then take this, Barnabas, for protection until we return.” Stokes held
out a chubby hand that contained a gleaming gold crucifix and thrust it
toward Barnabas. The former vampire fought the instinctive urge, the
long held necessity, to turn from the religious image, and then realized
that he no longer need fear the representation of Christ on the cross.
Yes, he owed Julia so much…
Quentin placed a large hand on his cousin’s weary shoulder. “Be
careful, man,” he said quietly. Barnabas gave him a small, tired smile
and nodded. He turned back to Julia as the men left intent upon their
gruesome task.
*********
“We are going to destroy him forever, Julia. Please, just stay with me
until we can kill him. Then everything will be all right.” Barnabas sat
next to the bed and held Julia’s limp, cold hand in both of his warm
ones. The contrast in body temperature was ironic; for so long, his
skin had been the one that had felt of ice, and if not for this woman,
he would still be the vile creature that he had despised. He would still
hunt for others’ blood to course through and warm his lifeless body. If
not for this woman…
“Stay with me, Julia. Please keep fighting. We can beat him; you’ll be
free again. I promise you.” Barnabas bent his head and placed a
solemn kiss on the tips of her pale fingers. A moment later, he felt a
cold, dead hand roughly grab hold of his shoulder and wrench him
away from Julia. In that instant, he was aware of black eyes that
smoldered with hatred searing into his own and heard a distant sound
that he vaguely realized was the gold cross skittering away out of
reach.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” came a voice that seemed to echo
from the pits of Hell, a voice accompanied by the stench of breath
forever tainted by death and decay.
“You cannot have her, Jennings!” Barnabas screamed, launching
himself at the vampire.
Tom effortlessly caught Barnabas by the shoulders and threw him
across the room with a roar. Collins landed awkwardly, hitting his
right knee, hip and temple against the hearth of the stone fireplace. He
struggled to sit up but sank down again when the pain exploded within
in his body and threatened to claim his consciousness.
“I HAVE HAD HER! I WILL HAVE HER! SHE IS TO BE
MY BRIDE – SHE WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO BE MY
BRIDE.” He staggered closer to the injured man and grinned a grin
full of razors and horror and death. “THERE WILL BE A
WEDDING HERE TONIGHT, MISTER COLLINS. EVERY
WEDDING NEEDS A WITNESS. AND YOU WILL BE THE
WITNESS TO THIS ONE.” He threw back his head and laughed at
his joke. “SOUNDS LIKE A LINE FROM A “B” HORROR
MOVIE, DOESN’T IT?”
Barnabas lifted heavy hands to his ears to drown out the creature’s
hideous laughter; it seemed to invade his head and resonant in his
bones.
Jennings turned back to his intended and bent over her still form. He
chanted words low in his throat, words that no human should ever
hear, words that would scorch and flail a righteous soul. Barnabas
could not make out what was being said nor what the vampire was
actually doing, but he knew full well what the result would be. Julia
was well on her way to becoming Jennings’ vampire bride – for all
eternity.
Collins forced himself to his knees, gritting his teeth against the nausea
that rose up in his gut. As he searched for a stronghold to pull him to
his feet, his eyes scanned the room for a weapon to use against the
unholy being who now appeared to be feeding on Julia’s vulnerable
flesh. The means to destroy the Walking Dead flashed through his
mind – who else would know them so well? – but he could see
nothing of use in this room, this room that had been intended for his
innocent bride almost 200 years ago. His Josette of the wealthy family
of DuPres from Fort de France, Martinique. From the wealthy
family! Silver, Josette had had many possessions made from pure
silver! Surely there was something silver in this room, something he
could use… He frantically looked from one piece of furniture to
another, from the bed to the chairs to the vanity. The mirror! Josette’s
large handmirror must have a silver backing! If he could only get to it
without Jennings seeing him.
He needn’t have worried about being detected. The vampire had
dismissed him as harmless and was now so engrossed in his “wedding
vows” that he was no longer aware of the other man’s presence.
Collins stole across the room, snatched the ornate mirror from where
it had lain for centuries and brought it down heavily against the edge
of the vanity. It shattered into large, thick shards of glass that were
backed with silver as Barnabas had hoped. Grabbing the longest,
most pointed shard and holding it like a dagger, he moved behind the
vampire who was still bent over Julia Hoffman and drove the silver
–tinged spike through his back and - blessedly - straight into his foul
heart.
“NO!” Jennings reared back and spun around to face his attacker, his
face a comical mask of surprise. Blood the color of ebony issued
from his battered chest as he stumbled toward the man who had
presumed to interrupt his wedding ceremony. Barnabas, weaponless
once again, took a step backward to escape the shambling horror
before him before Tom abruptly crumbled into a bleeding heap at his
feet. It had taken less than thirty seconds for the vampire to die, but it
had seemed more like hours to the vampire slayer.
Collins drew himself up and gazed down at the wretched being before
him. He shook his dark head sadly. He took no pleasure from the
deed he had been bound to perform.
“It could have been me,” he whispered under his breath. It was then
that he noticed the bright red droplets that stained the floor next to his
feet. He looked around curiously for a moment until he discovered the
source. His right hand was ripped and shredded from the piece of
glass he had used to pierce Jennings’ heart. Pieces of flesh on his
palm and fingers flapped free from the skin, and blood poured freely
from the many wounds. He absently pulled out his handkerchief and
wrapped it tightly around his hand. How curious that he had not felt
any pain during the confrontation with Tom nor did he feel any now.
He was sure, however, that the pain would appear with a vengeance
soon.
“Ahhh….” Barnabas’ head snapped up at the sound of Julia’s moan.
He stepped gingerly over the vampire’s form and hurried to her
bedside. He was taken aback at first by the thick, black blood on her
face and chest until he realized that it had spattered there when the
glass shard had punctured Jennings’ chest.
“Julia…Julia,” he murmured as he squeezed her hand in his, wincing
now at the feeling of his own damaged hand.
Julia Hoffman’s eyes opened infinitesimally, but he could tell that she
was already on her way to recovery. There was warmth in her hands
again, and her cheeks were even beginning to pink up just a bit.
“Julia, how are you feeling?” he asked anxiously.
Her eyes continued to open ever so slowly until he could see their
cloudy jade hue looking up at him. “Tired, so tired,” she croaked. A
slight smile caught at the corners of her mouth. “But free.”
“It’s over, Julia. Tom Jennings will never bother you again.”
She reached over with all the strength she possessed and placed her
hand over his. “Thank you, Barnabas.”
He looked deeply into her eyes and squeezed her hand more tightly.
“You’ve saved my life so often that I don’t deserve thanks.”
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many thanks to Sam Hall for the use of the last
three paragraphs of dialogue.)
*****
Cassandra Collins’ body seemed to awaken piece by piece under the
sterling moon that laughed down at her with a lopsided grin. Before
she even opened her eyes, she knew where she must be – she could
hear the night creatures as they scooted, skittered and slithered
through the woods. She could identify each animal by its sound as
well as its smell, its own distinctive warm-blooded smell. She
licked her lips and had no memory of doing so. The scent of pine
threatened to overwhelm her, and the wintergreen of the bushes
weighted down with checkerberries tingled on her tongue although
she had consumed none of them. She slowly opened her eyes as she
struggled to a sitting position and was amazed by the clarity of her
vision. She could pick out each tree, each leaf on each tree, each
insect on each leaf despite the darkness that painted the dense woods
in a deepening gloom.
She brought a trembling, perfectly manicured hand to her head in
confusion. She sighed in relief - at least her stiff sable coif had
survived her ordeal, whatever it had been. She felt so odd; what had
happened to her? She looked down at her peignoir and cursed under
her breath when she saw the state it was in – tattered, torn, and
stained with dirt, grass and - blood? Was that really blood smeared
across the delicate butterfly pattern? Blood – she had a distant
memory about blood. The scent of it, the sticky texture… She licked
her lips again and that was when she felt them. Her teeth! They
seemed to fill her mouth, to leave no room for her tongue. Her fingers
flew to her mouth, and then there was no doubt, no doubt at all.
Her high pitched scream rent the stillness as the truth made itself
known to her. He had made her this… this thing, this creature,
one of the Living Dead! She knew full well who he was – not Tom
who had physically caused her transformation, but the one who had
masterminded the plot – Nicholas! How dare he rob her of her
powers and condemn her to the darkness! He would not get away
with it. She wouldn’t allow it.
“Damn you, Nicholas Blair! I will have my revenge. I puh-romise you
that!”
In her fury, her eyes gleamed like red pinpoints in the dark, and the
night creatures instinctively scurried away from her to hide in burrows,
in warrens, in dark, dank holes they considered home. She rose to
her feet, amazed at the lightness of her being, and looked down in
surprise as the conjure doll she had hidden in her sleeve fell to the
damp ground with a muffled thump.
Elizabeth. How perfect, how utterly perfect.
Her shrill laughter filled every corner of the still forest, echoing off the
ancient trees - and causing a pregnant rabbit to go into premature
labor.
*****
“Now, Elizabeth, you must calm yourself,” Nicholas purred as he
poured her another sherry from the glistening Waterford carafe.
“You’ve gotten yourself in quite a state over David and Miss Winters
and that handyman – what was his name again?”
“Willie. Willie Loomis,” Elizabeth answered in a tremulous voice. “I
can’t help it, Nicholas. I just have this terrible premonition that they
are going to die, every one of them. And then after them – it will be
me!”
Her entire being seemed to shake in fear, reminding Nicholas of the
last leaf on a giant oak, rattled and battered by a late autumn wind.
She had been like this all evening. She had called him in a panic soon
after sundown, and he had hurried over to offer her his peculiar brand
of suave comfort in an effort to further ingratiate himself into her life –
and into Collinwood.
“My dear Elizabeth,” he crooned, gracefully sliding next to her on the
settee (Nicholas prided himself on doing everything gracefully, even
the nastiest of business.) “My dear, dear Elizabeth. You mustn’t
worry about this. I’m quite sure the doctors at Collinsport Hospital
are quite capable and are doing everything they can for those poor
people.” Actually, I’m quite sure that they are a pack of fools. There
is only one doctor that I know of in Collinsport who is worth any kind
of damn, he thought to himself. “And as for you, you are a vital and
healthy woman! Why should you be so concerned about dying?”
He managed to inch closer to her and cover her shaking hand with his
own gray-gloved one. He was dressed in various shades of gray
today from his suit to his ascot to his hat to his gloves. His ensemble
was exquisite, if he did say so himself. And he so enjoyed dressing in
gray – he of all creatures knew that life was not a matter of black and
white; life was shrouded in shades of gray.
“I…I don’t know why I am so preoccupied with dying, Nicholas. I
was worried about the others earlier, I admit, but since I awoke from
my nap this afternoon, I’ve just known that we are going to lose
them. It’s like a sixth sense, only much stronger. And I can feel my
own death approaching too as if I am destined to meet it around
every corner. And I know that it will be horrible, Nicholas!”
His soothing response was preempted by the jangling of the
telephone. Liz jumped and covered her mouth with her hand to
smother the cry that lingered there. Nicholas patted her hand
reassuringly and moved to answer the phone.
“Hello? Yes, she’s right here. One moment please.” He covered the
receiver with one hand. “It’s for you, Elizabeth. Collinsport Hospital.”
“Oh!” she cried in dismay. “They’re dead! I told you. They’re dead,
they’re dead!”
“They are not dead, Elizabeth,” he answered her, more sternly than he
had intended. Her hysteria was beginning to become annoying. He
handed her the phone. “Now, just speak with them and you will see
that they are not dead.”
She looked at him the way a child looks at a parent, begging them to
make things all right. He watched her face as she learned the
hospital’s news and saw the relief that flooded her features.
She turned to him once she had replaced the receiver. “Oh, Nicholas,
thank goodness! You were right – not only are they not dead, they
are much, much better than they were earlier, even Willie. They’re all
conscious and rapidly getting stronger. The doctors say they’ve never
seen anything like it.”
“That’s wonderful news, Elizabeth. Now don’t you feel so much
better?”
Elizabeth didn’t notice the way his black eyes narrowed at her report.
There was only one reason that the vampire’s victims were
experiencing a miraculous recovery – the vampire himself must be
dead. Tom Jennings must be dead.
*****
Cassandra Collins looked down at the slight figure that slept a fitful
sleep in the oversized, ornate bed. Liz had been to the hospital and
seen for herself that David, Vicki and even Willie were recovering
which had alleviated one set of her fears. But the other, the most
pervasive fear remained – fear of her own death. Despite her
exhaustion, despite Nicholas’ kind (if slightly oily) reassurances, her
dreams were full of images of her own death.
“I’m dying…Nicholas, help me, I’m dying…” she murmured in her
sleep as she tossed her head from side to side.
Cassandra laughed softly, an evil windchime tinkling merrily in the
night breeze. “Nicholas cannot help you now, Elizabeth. But you
needn’t worry, dear sister-in-law. You will no longer be preoccupied
by your own death. I shall give you other things to occupy your
mind.”
The vampiress knelt next to the bed and bent her head closer to the
sleeping mistress of Collinwood. She felt her elongated teeth tingle in
anticipation. She was hungry, so hungry, and Elizabeth was going to
make a fine meal.
“This is for how you have treated me, Mrs. Stoddard, since I came
into this house. You were so imperious…you never let me forget that
you were a Collins and that I wasn’t good enough to be part of your
family. How like Naomi you are; I wonder how Barnabas will feel to
see the woman who resembles his dear mother after I am through
with you. And this is for you too, Nicholas. How will you feel,
brother, when you realize that I have made your lady friend my
slave?”
With a smirk of delight, Cassandra sank her virgin fangs into the soft
throat of Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. Beneath the fine bouquet of
Elizabeth’s aristocratic blood, Cassandra could taste the aftermath of
her sister-in-law’s favorite sherry.
*****
“How ingenious of you, Barnabas,” Stokes was saying as he, Quentin
and Barnabas gathered around Julia’s bed. “But however could you
have know that the backing of that mirror was made of pure silver?”
Barnabas felt the familiar panic begin to rise in the back of his throat.
He turned to attempt to answer the curious professor.
“Well, I just assumed….”
Hearing his distress, Julia hurriedly leaped in to rescue him. “You
know that Barnabas know a great deal about antiques, Professor.
And lucky for me that he does.”
Barnabas gave her a grateful smile which she she returned tenfold.
Quentin glanced over at the ruined hulk that had once been his great
grandson. “What are we going to do about…Tom?” he asked sadly,
turning back to his friends.
“His body must be properly disposed of so that he can never return.
It will take a bit of work, and it won’t be pleasant, but it must be done
and done tonight. We had best get to it, gentlemen. And I’m sure Julia
would welcome the rest.”
“I’m not sure I can rest, Eliot, with this god-awful afghan as a
blanket,” she said with a weak but sly smile as she fingered the olive
green covering that lay over her.
The three men laughed indulgently before turning to their task. Each
one stopped abruptly, certain that their eyes were deceiving them.
Quentin found his voice first. “Eliot, he’s gone! Tom’s body is gone!
It was just here…”
“What an extraordinary occurrence,” Stokes murmured in his usual
understated manner.
In the confusion that followed, none of those present in the room
noticed the spokes of light that refracted from the broken hand mirror
that lay discarded on the vanity. Tiny spirals of blue, yellow, green
and red light – the red was dominant – issued languidly from the
mirror. They swirled around those in the room, seeking, testing,
probing until they found their victim. Satisfied with their choice, the
invaders found entry through the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the
ears….
And a long forgotten spell - encased in a lady’s hand mirror by her
maidservant almost two centuries before - finally found a purpose.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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