EPISODE 475
DIRECTOR: John Sedwick
WRITER: Sam Hall
AIR DATE: 4/19/68
Adaptation by Laramie Dean
(Voiceover by Lara Parker): “At the great house of Collinwood, Victoria Winters has returned to her life from a strange and haunting adventure in the past. And those terrible events she lived through are beginning to change not only her life, but the lives of those around her. Now a sudden marriage between strangers has brought a new threat to a man who has lived for two hundred years, for he recognizes the new bride from the past, and he knows she is a witch who has returned to restore the curse he has escaped.”
Barnabas’ eyes were riveted on Cassandra as she entered the Old House that evening. She smiled courteously at him, a smile which he returned, but inside he burned with anger and fear. How dare she return, he thought despairingly, just as I’m so close to being happy?
But, “Mrs. Collins,” was all he said.
“Cassandra, please,” she said blithely, and smiled her most charming smile.
“A beautiful name,” he replied, “but with unfortunate historical associations. Tell me, do you have the same gift of prophecy as your namesake?” His eyes glinted with wickedness.
“No,” Cassandra said, and added what she must have thought to be a genuine chuckle. “How I wish I did!”
“So do I,” Barnabas said. “The next few days are going to be most fascinating.” Thunder walked and talked outside, and the Old House shook almost imperceptibly as its over two hundred years of timber roared and creaked. But Cassandra seemed not to notice. Barnabas’ eyes narrowed. Of course she wouldn’t.
“What a lovely, lovely house, Mr. Collins,” she said instead. Her eyes encompassed everything, but it was as if there was nothing really or truly new, Barnabas thought, as if she had seen it all before. He felt he felt the fury, barely constrainable, begin to rise in him, so much like the malignant hunger that came when it was time to feed. He remembered the feel of the fangs and how they would ache in his jaw, how his hands would clench into fists and the whisper of the vampire would call to him, Must must must have blood. “Do you know what?” Cassandra was saying, and it was all he could do to stop himself from placing his hands around her throat and throttling the life from her, as he had done once long ago. “I feel at home here.”
“I’m not at all surprised,” Barnabas said dryly.
Cassandra glanced back at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent. “Should I?”
“You have every reason to be,” he purred. “Angelique.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I … I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘Angelique,” he said. His lips drew back in a silent snarl.
Cassandra turned away, but her eyes shifted back to Barnabas again, and for a moment he thought he saw that old familiar fury, and in that moment he was afraid … but his own anger was blooming red and rapidly obscured any fear he might have held. “I don’t understand,” she said, and there was something petulant in her voice that made the vampire inside him roar.
“It is a name you used once,” he said as he closed in on her.
“Mr. Collins,” Cassandra said and, maddeningly, laughed, “I have never used any name but my own. You must be confusing me with someone else.”
And the anger began to boil over. “I could never confuse you with anyone,” Barnabas snapped.
“You have.”
“You feel at home here because we were married in this room!” And it was out, just like that. Oh, how liberating it felt to call her out as he had wanted to do from the first moment he saw her in the drawing room at Collinwood, hanging on Roger’s arm like deadly fruit.
“Mr. Collins!” she gasped. Deny it to the end, witch, Barnabas thought grimly, but your schemes will unravel again as they did in the past, and I will be rid of you in a way that I never could before. “I shall certainly tell Roger,” she said, and her voice snapped with the indignity.
“No you won’t.” He grinned. He wished his teeth were fangs. He wished he could shear through her throat with them and bathe in her blood. “You don’t want his questions.”
“I’m willing to answer any questions.” Her lips trembled. “Even yours.”
“When were you born? Where?’
“In New York. My mother and father are both dead.”
“The last part of your statement is true,” Barnabas snarled. “I will tell you where they died. In Martinique – centuries ago!”
She seemed at a loss for words. Finally, through bared teeth she snapped, “You don’t make sense. Excuse, me please –” She tried to shove her way past him, but he froze her when he said, “You said you would answer any questions.” She was tense, unsure. He wanted to rub his hands together in anticipation. “Where were you a year ago?”
“In graduate school.” The words came from between her clenched teeth.
“Where?”
“California.” She didn’t appear to be at all frightened by this line of questioning; instead, her smile grew. This was all well-rehearsed, he thought, and hated her.
“What were you studying?” He bared his teeth. “Witchcraft?”
Her mouth dropped open, then closed with a snap. “I never expected you to be like this,” she said quietly.
“No,” he said, chuckling a laugh like paper, “that is the truest thing you’ve said. I’ll tell you what you expected me to be like. You thought I would still be confined to the night, didn’t you.”
She dropped her gaze at last. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You dare say that to me,” he roared, “you who caused me this curse! And now you’ve come back to torment me.”
Cassandra faced him sullenly. “I never knew you existed.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Her head flashed up. “Well, at least we agree on that!”
Barnabas grinned. “Not until you met Vicki in the past.”
She was shocked again; her mouth gaped, her eyes flashed. “Miss Winters? I’ve only just met her here –”
“Stop lying to me.”
“I’m not!” Her voice quaked with fury.
“You met her and realized I was not where my father put me, that I was still in the world.”
Cassandra was edging towards the door, it amused him to see. Perhaps I’ll kill her after all, he thought. It would be so easy. So very easy –
“Why do you keep saying these things to me?” she cried. “They make no sense. You’re … you’re insane!”
“Perhaps,” Barnabas nodded. “Insane enough to try to deal with you.”
“Don’t try,” she hissed.
“I will not let you harm anyone.”
“Harm anyone?” She shook her helmet of black hair. “I shall certainly tell Roger all of this.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“No,” she said poisonously, “of course. You wouldn’t.”
“If we begin checking,” Barnabas said, “I’m sure we’ll discover that your papers aren’t in as much order as you thought. You can’t afford too many questions … Angelique.”
“Stop calling me that!” Cassandra shrieked.
“It is your name.”
“No,” she declared, tears turning her eyes into swimming blue waters, “no it’s not.” She sobbed helplessly.
Barnabas glared at her and leveled a finger at the door. “Go,” he hissed. “You will not win this time … Angelique.” Tears streamed down Cassandra’s face as she stared at him, helpless, frozen in the doorframe. Their gazes locked, and all the will seemed to drain out of her. Then, with a sob, she threw open the door and ran out into the stormy night.
Barnabas watched her go, emotions warring on his face, flickering across it like the lightning in the wrathful sky above them: hatred, anguish, worry, triumph … and fear.
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