Chapter 28: A Dark Redemption
by Gothick
This episode contains adult content.
Voiceover (by Joel Crothers): "Collinwood ... Autumn 1967. Another night of
horror shrouds the Great House in a miasma of implacable darkness ... and the
events that occur this night will affect the lives of all who live at
Collinwood. For on this night, Julia Hoffman faces one whose power comes from
the Devil himself ... . and if she loses this ultimate battle for her life,
and her very soul, her defeat could spell a terrifying doom for every member of
the Collins family."
***********************************************************
Dawn spread like a fine, ash-caked cobweb over the consciousness of Dr. Julia
Hoffman (what's left of her, she cracked to herself with a wintry attempt at a
smile, glad she could not see the ghastly rictus blood loss had surely left her
distended lips). It was to be the last dawn she would ever see as a human
being-or so she had been informed by that fiend in female form who had just
spent interminable hours haranguing her about the impending doom of the Collins
family.
A new verb was needed. "Gloat" simply didn't begin to sum up the degree of
depravity, desperation and all-out diabolical madness covered in the epic
rantings of Cassandra Collins during the night that had just ended.
"Barnabas Collins will BEG for death by the time I'm through with him!" the
bewigged harpy had trumpeted with malevolent glee, while Julia (by now
absolutely bored and exhausted out of her mind) pretended to cower in pantomime
horror. "Elizabeth Collins Stoddard will roam the village, stalking the
innocent for her prey. Carolyn will walk the night with matted hair and maggot
infested clothing. David ... I have something VERY SPECIAL in mind for little
David ..." and her mouth twisted into a hateful sneer that genuinely sickened
Julia, weary as she was.
Inevitably, the end came. The approach of dawn had alerted Cassandra
(finally!) to the passage of time, and she had swung Julia around like a rag
doll in one of those delicate porcelain hands that held such unearthly power.
With a truly vicious relish, she sank her dripping fangs into Julia's already
much abused neck, rising with blood-flecked lips to announce that Julia's
death--and her induction into the ranks of Cassandra's new army of the
Undead--was finally at hand.
Whatever the purpose for keeping Cassandra occupied so long had been, whatever
Roger had planned to do, she hoped he had done it. Cassandra did not mean for
her to survive this day, and Julia was quite sure she could not outlive another
night like the one that had just passed.
Slowly, painfully, as her consciousness grew (barely willingly) stronger, she
sat up from where she had been lying on the floor. She put her hand to her
neck. It felt sticky with blood. She winced. She wondered just how long she
had been lying there. It might already be midday ... The makeshift crypt was
deserted. A single exposed lightbulb shown wanly over that hideous pink coffin
where SHE lay, battening on the blood, the vital energy, she had sapped from
Julia.
With a groan, clutching desperately at a rickety breakfront shoved against the
wall by which she had been left to die, Julia struggled to get to her feet. At
the rate she was going, she might not even be able to make it out of the East
Wing before nightfall. Still, she had to try.
Fortunately, there were plenty of bits of discarded furniture to hold onto;
plenty of old chairs and ottomans to support her, should she feel a sudden
collapse in her energy. She barely made it across the room before she needed to
take her first rest. She moaned feebly in sheer frustration, than checked
herself. Concentrate, Julia. Get to the drawing room. Somehow, help will be
there.
Would she have the strength to get the panel opened that led to the main
corridor out of the East Wing? And would she be in time?
Her mouth was dry, and she knew, quite genially, that she would have KILLED for
a cigarette. Gritting her teeth, she stumbled slowly, wearily, across the
deserted room. God damn high heels, that little voice in the back of her mind
nattered stupidly on.
********************************************************************
Unknown to Julia, Fate for once WAS on her side. It was barely an hour past
dawn, and Chris Jennings lay in the thrall of a delightful dream. "Joe," he
moaned breathlessly, "Joe."
Out of the hazy darkness of sleep, spiraling into his consciousness, came a
twisting, tumbling, tossing maze of arms and legs and lips and eyes ... he
wasn't even sure whose face or moaning voice that was ... was it Gerry, or
Frank (God he was horse hung, shoulda hung onto him longer, hehehe), or Dave,
or Mark? But no ... God, he's blowin' my mind ... and that's not the only
thing ... his eye, half shut, strayed down and saw that clean-cut chin and
that wide easy mouth and those gorgeous, commanding tits ... oh God, am I
really in bed with this straight arrow, the guy that used to have all the girls
at Collinsport High running after him ... Joe Haskell, the nearest thing to
Captain America you'll ever know this side of Heaven?
Joe's mouth was full, so he wasn't saying anything coherent, though the sounds
coming from his throat indicated clearly enough that he was having a great
time. Chris grabbed those superbly sculpted shoulders that bumped against his
own well-toned swimmer's thighs and ran one hand eagerly through Joe's short,
curly, dark hair, pulling his head closer, feeling the waves of sensation
rising to a new incandescent plateau of honest-to-God, tear-wringing,
head-snapping, gut-splitting nirvana.
And then it happened. He gasped, moaned, threw his head back, yowled like a
banshee, his throat caught in a long strangled scream of sheer honey-coated
delight ... oh god oh god oh god oh GOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!
He should have woken up at that point. Instead, strangely, the dream
continued.
And Joe's strong arms were hugging him and his lips were raised to meet Chris'
eager mouth, and those rough sea-shanty calloused hands of his were tenderly
stroking Chris' defiant nipples (still riding high from the sheer excitement
provoked by Joe's touch), and his voice was roughly whispering, "Yeah, baby ...
yeah ... yeah ..."
"Joe," he heard his own voice, hoarse and tired and excited, "Joe ... I,
I,uhhhh.... never knew it could be like this ..."
"Oh baby," crooned that soft swooning baritone, wrapping him round like those
rough kisses all over his shoulder blades and chest, "there's so much you don't
know. We're going to be together forever ... in a world very different from
the one you know..."
Suddenly a blue light glared hideously over his face. A skull bathed in dull
green fire was leering over him, eyes shockingly alive and rolling their
spectral hellfire his own stupefied stare, those chipped yellowing teeth
lowering to bite his tongue ...
He awoke, a scream frozen in his throat, bathed in sweat, the early morning
sunlight shimmering brazenly at the blinds. He lifted an unsteady hand to wipe
the damp hair back from his face, then dropped it to touch his loins, realizing
he felt sticky "down there." He attempted a weak, nauseated smile. What a weird
dream to have, he thought, especially when it ISN"T near the full moon. That
was usually the time when visions of death and destruction came to haunt his
nightmares.
He struggled out of bed, feeling rumpled and ragged, and grabbed his ratty old
bathrobe. He ordinarily didn't bother, but he did have a guest to consider.
Joe had spent the night on the sofa ... Joe Haskell! He grinned a little
foolishly, then straightened his shoulders and tried to sober a bit. The dream
had left him an odd combination of jittery, perplexed, and horny.
He opened the door and peered out. The living room was deserted, and the
bathroom door was closed. That must mean ...
Suddenly the door was thrown open, and there, on display in a blaze of dramatic
light, naked as a Colt magazine centerfold, was Joe Haskell, grinning at him
ear to ear as if Chris were his next meal. Inadvertently Chris' eyes dropped
to Joe's crotch ... oh my God!!! ... his endowment, unavoidably present in
the clear light of day, even more formidable than Chris had fantasized.
"Good morning, cuzzzz," Joe jazzed with an even wider, sexier grin. "Sleep
well? Nice dreams?"
"Yeah. Dreams," he managed, struggling to get ahold of himself. Was it his
imagination, or was Joe's smile ... seductive??? Naw. Couldn't be. They
didn't make 'em much straighter than Joe Haskell.
"Uh...."
"Why don't get you get in the shower, Chris," Joe said--was that just the
merest hint of a tease in his voice? "And then we can head over to the world
famous Collinsport Inn for some bacon and eggs. I don't know about you but I'm
... starving." He paused, his gaze lingering brutally into Chris' eyes, as he
stepped forward, his nakedness rampant and unashamed before Chris' shrinking
defensiveness. "I feel as if I could eat a horse. Cuzzz."
*****************************************************
With literally superhuman determination, Julia had slowly, painfully made her
way through the twisting maze of corridors, out of the East Wing into the high-
ceilinged, carpeted hallway that ran along the axis of the central section of
Collinwood. The house appeared to be deserted; yet so fixed was she upon her
goal that she did not even pause to wonder at the lack of people moving through
the halls and rooms.
Hanging on for dear life to the balustrade, she found herself edging across the
mezzanine over the great Foyer. The sunlight, muted though it was by the row
of stately stained glass windows, nearly blinded her with its scorching
intensity. She choked back a dry, hacking moan, and her body nearly heaved,
but she gritted her teeth and grabbed the newel post, her head swimming, as she
stood gasping at the head of the stairs, preparing for the arduous descent that
awaited her.
Step by step ... each step made her head spin. To keep her wits about her,
she slowly counted each breath as she lowered each foot down to the next step.
I shouldn't even be able to do this, she thought, then savagely checked her own
innate physician's skepticism. If she had ever doubted the strength of sheer
will power, all doubt was gone now.
The bottom of the steps. And the long, seemingly infinite space of the foyer
to get across. Would she manage it? Somehow, she must. She flailed wildly as
she let go of the banister at the bottom of the steps and practically hurled
herself, tottering, towards the drawing room doors. Thankfully they stood open,
awaiting her ... and she saw, as she skittered insanely across the wide space,
as crazed as a moth spiralling down into flame, that Roger lay, unconscious,
supine, by the fireplace, an OBJECT glinting dull iron grey flung out of one
hand.
That was it. That was why she was here. Somehow, it was something that would
help her. That would FREE her. She felt it instinctively.
With a groan, she felt her head hit the cushions of that ghastly puke-green
sofa. She retched, but, of course, her stomach was empty. Groaning, she
turned herself slowly around until her bottom rolled off the couch and she
dropped with a dull plop onto the faded Persian carpet of the drawing room
floor.
Must ... reach ... it ... must ....
Even her thoughts came in gasps now.
Her groping fingers found the beads, felt the weight of the iron thing that lay
in their center. She couldn't look at it, of course, but she knew instantly
what it was. And she felt the witch's instinctive screams of horror at the
implied proximity of such a Thing to one whose last moments were being lived so
firmly in her thrall.
But that crazed rictus drew her bloodless lips back into a cracked grin, and
she knew now that she was almost home ... safe ... free. Dragging herself
over towards the fire, with one trembling hand, she held the iron crucifix
closer to the quietly leaping flames ... closer ... until she felt the iron
resting against the hot coals banked against the floor of the fireplace.
She knew that it would be agony ... knew that she might not be able to survive
the sheer nightmarish horror of the pain. But she was past caring about that
now. The only thing that mattered was to be free.
With one final supreme effort, Julia Hoffman raised herself and whipped the
rosary beads up. The searing hot iron crucifix flew through the air at the
other end of the slim dark necklace. And it came to rest squarely upon that
spot where Cassandra had just been feasting on her neck.
Oblivion came so swiftly Julia never even heard her own harrowing, withering
screams. Her outraged body could stand no more. Her senses shut down with a
finality that she knew instinctively must be the end. Her last conscious
thought was one of gratitude. Without Roger's own determination, and
encouragement, she would never have made it this far.
Night had fallen. But it had been a good run.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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