Shadows on the Wall Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter 42: This Is the Way the World Ends

by Nicky

(Voiceover by Alexandra Moltke): "My name is Victoria Winters.  I came to

Collinwood six months ago, but already I feel as though I have been here

forever.  In the course of my daily life in the great house I have met and

developed feelings for two of the Collins men, one a stranger from beyond the

darkness of death with haunted eyes and a tortured soul, and the other a man

with secrets that I may never uncover and eyes that make me burn for him and

fear him at the same time.  But a darkness has spread a blot across the entire

family, and already several innocent people have been lost to its taint, and

unless I act quickly, more people may die. Someone must go back.  To change

things.  To make them different.  And I’m so afraid that someone is me."

1 (Vicki)

 Victoria Winters lay dreaming, her breasts rising and falling with slow,

deliberate intakes of breath, and her eyes rolled madly beneath closed lids,

like uneasy ghosts behind darkened draperies.  She was unaware of the violence

that had swelled in the room around her, unaware that a woman who loved a man

so much that she had fallen under a wicked spell was now driven by the

spellcaster to end the life of the man she valued with all her heart and the

tattered remnants of her soul, but Vicki would not have stirred even if she had

known.  What was going on in her mind — what she was seeing in this dream that

somehow wasn’t a dream at all — that was the truly important thing.

Vicki stood on the far-reaching lawn of Collinwood, lost beneath a foot of

snow.  He will be loosed when the snow flies, Vicki thought madly, and looked

up.  Louise Collins stood before her, and Vicki knew that she was facing her

mother, a thin slip of a girl with bobbed black hair and a velvet bow of vivid

crimson in her hair.  Her eyes were great and dark and solemn, but her mouth

twitched in a smile, and she beckoned to Vicki from the doorway of Collinwood.

"Come to me, my daughter," the woman-child sang in a voice of high, seductive

melody, "it’s time that you learned why you are at Collinwood.  It is time for

you to stand.  To stand and be true."

"Stand?" Vicki cried, and felt that her voice was ripped from her mouth and

carried away by the vicious, bitter wind.  "Against what?  Tell me, please, I

don’t understand!"

Louise looked at her with a terrible sort of compassion.  "I know you don’t, my

darling," she said, "but you will.  In time you will understand all things.  In

time.  In time." And the world gave a tremendous lurch, and Vicki —

— was running down an endless corridor lined with portraits depicting

generations of the Collins family: here was a pale, sickly woman with blonde

ringlets, and the gold placard on her frame read, "Millicent Collins"; a dour,

patrician man scowled at her under a furrowed brow, and she saw that he was

"Joshua Collins"; here was "Daniel Collins", here was "Harriet Collins", here

was "Thaddeus" and "Flora" and "Naomi", and still Vicki ran and couldn’t stop

until Louise stopped her.

The girl who was her mother stood before a section of portraits, and gestured

at them. "See," she said, and her voice echoed throughout the hall.  Her eyes

were vast and full of determination. "Remember." She held out her hand and

pointed at them, one by one: a man with a mustache who bore a startling

resemblance to Roger Collins, and he was "Edward"; a woman with her hair pulled

back tight and black eyes that seemed filled with not a little cunning, and she

was "Judith"; and here was a boy, her own grandfather she now knew, and this

was "Jamison", and beside Jamison, his sister "Nora"; and then she felt her

heart stop in her chest as she saw the image of the man she loved, but a man

who had disappeared eighty years ago and left only his descendant for her to

hold, and this was "Quentin".

 "There is so little time," Louise said.  "Time.  So little time.  Time."

"Time," Vicki said dreamily.

"Yes.  Someone must go back."

Vicki frowned again, and pulled at her hair in an agony born of frustration.

"Please," she sobbed, "please tell me, because I don’t know what that means!

Go back where?"

Louise tapped each portrait with her finger.  "See," she said sternly, and

"Remember."

Vicki bowed her head.  "I see," she said, as if defeated, "Edward and Judith

and Jamison and Nora and ...  and Quentin ..."

"Oh my darling," Louise said, her voice full of tears and an aching sorrow, and

stepped towards her daughter with her arms outstretched —

— and Vicki found herself in Eagle Hill Cemetery.  She drew in her breath to

scream, for Barnabas Collins knelt at a grave before her, and Barnabas was a

murderer.  He had killed Elizabeth, after all — she had seen him cradling the

body, and the guilt on his face was all too apparent.  She knew this to be

true, just as she knew that Joe Haskell had been right when he had told her the

secret — Barnabas Collins was a vampire.

 

He wore a long, flowing Inverness cape of the darkest, most secret jade, and

his white marble hands emerged from a frock-coat and a flurry of lace.  He wore

black leather riding boots, and his onyx ring sparkled on his finger.  His face

was pale and ghastly, and his eyes had sunken far back into their sockets and

stared at the gravestone before him.  Despite her fear, she was helpless to

stop herself, and knelt next to him.  She reached out to touch the gravestone;

JOSETTE COLLINS, it read, DIED AT WIDOW’S HILL, 1796.  SHE WAS A FLOWER

REACHING FOR THE SUN.  MAY SHE FIND EVERLASTING LIGHT.

"You mustn’t touch her stone," Barnabas said in a voice that was only gently

reproving, and she snatched her hand away as though burned.  "It wouldn’t be

proper, I think.  Like a shadow on a sunny day." He sighed heavily.  "I shall

never see the sun again." He looked at her with eyes like shattered glass,

filled with a dark, poisonous sadness.  "You’re afraid of me," he said quietly.

"Maybe you should be.  It seems that I destroy everything I touch."

"That isn’t true," Vicki protested.  I don’t love this man, she thought, do I?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know ...  but I can understand him, I

think.  No matter how it happened, he doesn’t want to be what he is, and

somehow he managed to change.  The curse was lifted, or someone found a way

around it.  "How did it happen?" she asked, her curiosity momentarily

superseding her good sense.

"A woman’s love," he said, "and a woman’s jealousy condemned me to eternal

darkness.  She rides the night with the devil her lover, but even in death she

haunts me.  The devil has painted her hair, but still ...  I recognize her."

That struck a chord, and suddenly she remembered a painting she had seen many

months ago, when Barnabas had first come to Collinwood soon after she herself

had arrived on her train, all innocent and unknowing.  David had brought it to

this same cemetery for some reason she never understood, and it had depicted a

beautiful blonde woman with ice-chip eyes that stung and froze. And then she

thought of a woman with more than an inordinate interest in Barnabas Collins,

and who seemed to seethe with hatred for him from the moment they had met.

"Cassandra?" she cried.  "Cassandra Collins did this to you?"

"She is no angel," Barnabas said, "and you must beware her, even now.  You will

see her again soon, I think."

"But she’s gone!" Vicki said.  "She left Roger in the middle night, and all she

left behind her was a note telling him that she was never coming back.  Even

Mrs.  Stoddard believes it now." Evoking Mrs.  Stoddard’s name called up an

image of her in death, her eyes wide and empty, her neck raddled with purple

bruises.  "You killed her," Vicki said reprovingly, but with no real malice.

"She jumped from the cliffs," Barnabas said, as if this were the most obvious

truth in all the universe.  "I didn’t want her to die."

"No," Vicki frowned, "not Josette.  Mrs.  Stoddard.  You killed Mrs.

Stoddard." But Barnabas seemed not to hear her.  He sighed heavily again and

reached out to gently stroke the tombstone of the woman who had captured his

heart and soul.  All those time he talked about his ancestor and the love he

felt for Josette DuPres, and even then I could sense the passion that was still

alive in him, even now, after nearly two centuries.  "Barnabas," she said,

shaking him, "Barnabas!"

"He can’t hear you," Louise said sadly.  "He is trapped in the past, my darling

girl, as lost as anyone else in this house of dark shadows.  Barnabas Collins

is not the only one at Collinwood living under a curse."

"He killed her," Vicki said, and felt her heart break a little as blood-stained

tears began to trickle down Barnabas’ gaunt, haunted face.  "He killed your

sister."

"Because he had to," Louise said, and Vicki gasped.  "She would have killed

him, you see, because he knew.  He learned the truth, and Lizzie wouldn’t have

it.  She may be the birthday girl, but I’m the belle of the ball.  I’m the

hothouse flower, and she has killed again and again." Her face twisted with

disgust.  "Killed to protect him, that vile, loathsome spider, and now she’s as

dead as he is, and she has served him well." The disgust drained from Louise’s

voice, and now she was only sad.  "She thought to contain him, but he was only

waiting until the time was right, until you could be called back to Collinwood.

He wants to use you, my darling, to destroy Collinwood and everyone in it.

You are a key, and once the lock has been turned, he’ll discard you without a

second thought."

"None of this makes any sense," Vicki moaned, and looked up as Louise touched

her cheek.  The fingers of the ghost were icicles, and burned with a terrible

cold.  There was no mercy in the eyes of her mother, but that dreadful, heavy

compassion remained.

"Part of this is my fault," Louise admitted.  "I was under his spell like

others have been, but I came to him of my own free will, and I take

responsibility for all that followed.  I have to fix things, Vicki, and I can

only do that if you help me make them right.  If you stand and be true, you can

undo all this harm."

"If I stand and be true," Vicki repeated thoughtfully.

"You will know him when you see him," Louise said, "though he will wear a face

dear to your own heart.  But he is a bringer of death, and the reek of death

will surround him like a charnel shroud.  It is too late right now to stop what

is to come, but you can change things.  You can make them different, Victoria.

But you have to go back." She placed her cold, cold hands on Vicki’s shoulders,

and she cringed away, helpless, but Louise never relented.  "You have to go

back, Victoria.  If you don’t, then everyone at Collinwood will be lost,

including the men you love.

"Go back, Victoria.  A way will open, and you must use it.

"Go back.

"Go back.

"Go —"

2 (Julia)

The noose swung before her eyes temptingly, and Raymond reached out and teased

it with one finger, sending it swinging to and fro.  Barnabas didn’t see

Raymond, and he certainly didn’t see the noose.  For the first time in weeks,

perhaps the first time in their relationship, Barnabas was seeing Julia Hoffman

as a person — as a woman — with hopes and dreams and feelings, goddammit, real,

honest to goodness feelings, and maybe he was finally realizing what a shit he

had been.

 

Not good enough, Julia decided, and the Voice outside chortled greedily, and

rasped, "Exactly, Dr.  Hoffman.  Not good enough.  You have to kill him.  Do it

now.  Quickly, before someone stops you." That Voice was stronger now, and it

hummed in her own body like writhing skeins of electricity.

"I don’t know if I can," Julia whispered, and Barnabas frowned.

"Julia, what is the matter?" he pressed.  Behind him, Raymond shook his head

warningly.

"Get out of my way, Barnabas," she said in a voice of resolute authority.  She

tried to push past him, but he would not be balked, and placed both hands on

her shoulders.  Her face twisted up like a nest of snakes, and she struggled in

his grip, and screamed, "Let me go, let me go, you bastard, let me go!"

He recoiled, stricken at the release of her venom, and released her.  She fell

back with an angry snarl, and covered her face with her hands.  Dear god, what

was happening to her?  What was wrong?  The smell of lemon drops gathered

around her in a cloud, choking her, and the Voice said, "Now, Doctor."

"Julia," Barnabas said, and she could almost believe that his voice was tender,

"what’s happened to you?  I don’t understand why you’re acting like this."

"Acting?" Julia screamed, and her face was the twisted visage of a harpy,

purple and straining. "I’m trying to tell you how I feel, Barnabas, but you

can’t listen, even now!" She felt something inside her break, and tears began

to course in savage streaks down her face.  She sobbed as though that would

bring back her humanity, as if that would salvage something in her worth

saving, despite the fact that she was about to kill the man she loved.  Inside

her there was only dark winter and black ice and a dreadful, screaming wind,

and gradually the tears died away.  She looked up at him with the cold, amoral

eyes of a dead woman.

"I thought we were friends," he whispered.

"We’re not friends," she spat, "and we’ll never be friends.  I’ll love you

until my heart has burned itself to dead ashes in my chest and you’ll still be

chasing a girl who will never love you like I can. I’ll love you until they

bury my cold body under pounds of heavy earth, but we are not friends, Barnabas

Collins.  Whatever else may happen, I will never be your friend."

"Now, Jules," Raymond said, and a chaotic field of sores ruptured on his face;

yellow pus oozed out from his raddled, pock-marked Halloween mask visage, and

when he grinned his teeth were green with moss.  She felt her stomach twist

with horror, and thought she might vomit. "You can’t fight him, Jules, and you

know you can’t.  Give up.  It’ll be so much easier if you just —"

"All right," Julia growled, and when she looked up, Barnabas was coming towards

her with his arms open.

"Julia, please," he said, and enfolded her in his arms.  She saw her

opportunity and let herself be folded, then steered him gently in the direction

of the noose.  The grinning, purple corpse of her brother was nodding

enthusiastically, and lifted the noose above Barnabas’ head.

"Go back," Vicki whimpered on the bed, tossing and thrashing, "go back, go

back, go back —"

This is the end, Julia thought concretely, and when this is done I shall kill

myself.  I won’t be able to live after I’ve done this, even though I knew I had

to because he wanted me to.  All I want to do is die.

"Barnabas," Julia whispered, just as Vicki sat up in bed, her eyes wide and her

mouth wider, and she screamed, "Go back, go back —"

Barnabas jerked at the sound of his beloved’s voice, and pushed Julia aside in

his fervent dash for the bed.  Julia howled miserably and sank to her knees,

but even this was not enough to deter him. The air was redolent with the scent

of lemon drops.  He knelt beside Vicki, trying to ask her what was wrong, to

tell him what had happened, but she was pointing a shaking finger in Julia’s

direction, and cried, "Barnabas, look!"

He turned his head and saw first that Julia had crumpled on the ground in a

quivering, shaking ball, but that wasn’t what widened his eyes and caused his

mouth to gape open.  The rotted, twisted corpse of a man towered above Julia

Hoffman, and he rolled his eyes and gnashed his stained and mottled teeth, and

snarled, "Die, die, all will die —"

"Barnabas, my god," Vicki cried, and clutched at him, but Barnabas was too

stunned to move.  A noose swung in the air, impossible as that seemed, swung

from nowhere ...  and it swung just above where he’d been standing.  Where

Julia had directed him to stand, to be precise, he belatedly realized with a

sinking feeling of horror.

 

The air before the gibbering creature shimmered, and for a moment he stood

before them as he must have in life, and they could both see the resemblance.

Julia had mentioned a brother that died, Barnabas thought, but why has his

ghost returned?  And why would he want her to kill me?

Then the illusion shattered, and the ghost of Raymond Hoffman stood before them

in the cerements of the grave, and he threw back his head and screamed his rage

...  and began to change.  The air pulsed and writhed as though it were alive,

and the corpse before them began to break up and dissolve and reform itself,

and suddenly a vague, shadowy form stood before them. Its features were barely

distinguishable, but they could tell that it was an enormous man with eyes far

too large that flashed and sparkled.  His mouth split into an enormous grin,

and the smell of lemondrops was gone, and they could smell only corruption,

like spoiled meat gone gray and sour.

Then it was gone.

Julia lifted her head, and her face was red and stained with tears.  "Where is

he?" she cried in the quavering, querulous voice of a five year old.  Both

Barnabas and Vicki realized that she didn’t sound wholly sane.  Her eyes rolled

madly in their sockets.  "Where is Raymie?  What have you done with him?"

"Julia," Barnabas said, stepping towards her, "Julia —"

She bared her teeth at him and shook her fist, then clambered heavily to her

feet, and stood before them, swaying.  "What did you to do to my brother, you

murdering bastard?"

"Julia," Barnabas said softly, and wished that he were anyone else in the

world, "your brother is dead."

She merely stared at him for a moment, then her eyes bulged and her face

flushed a hot scarlet. "No!" she screamed in a high, terrible voice, "no, no,

no!" Still shrieking, tearing at her hair and her face with pointed nails,

Julia turned and fled the room.

Vicki was on her feet in an instant.  "We have to follow her, Barnabas," she

said, and ran towards the door.

"Vicki," he said, terribly ashamed, "Vicki, you have to know that I didn’t mean

to —"

"I know, Barnabas," she said, and smiled as she cupped his hand in hers.  "I

understand everything, now. And I forgive you.  But we have to go now,

Barnabas.  Something terrible is about to happen, and I have to stop it if I

can, before it’s too late to save everyone else at Collinwood ... including

myself."

She turned to run again, and Barnabas followed her, and cried, "Vicki, where

are we going?"

"To where Julia is going," she called over her shoulder, and her voice was hard

and grim.  "To where he waits.  Where all this started.  To the West Wing."

3 (Quentin)

The door was open.  He should have known it would be.  It gaped, and inside was

a darkness as hollow and empty as he was.  Not even the thought of Vicki could

spark warmth inside of him.  He thought he would be cold for eternity.

He thought of his portrait and how it had come to exist, and knew that the time

had come to pay the piper.

No one gets something for nothing, he had once been told, and now he knew it

was true. Some things are a disease, he thought grimly, and helplessly began to

walk through the door. That’s what he gave me.  A disease that looks like a

cure.  And in the end it will cost me everything I hold dear.

He stepped through the door, and for a moment, before his eyes could adjust, he

saw only darkness.  But gradually the darkness faded, and the first thing he

saw lay like a bundle of sticks flung carelessly against a wall.  He knelt

beside it for closer examination and recoiled.  It was the corpse of Nicholas

Blair (or Evan Hanley, Quentin thought, both were the same man), but it was

almost unrecognizable.  The skin had withered, and was drawn back tightly

against the bones of the face like ancient parchment.  His eyes had fallen in,

leaving gaping, empty eyesockets.  His mouth was open in a silent scream, and

his teeth were chipped and yellowed.  His mustache remained only in patches

above his open mouth.

"He was a fool," a familiar voice said conversationally, and Quentin was not at

all surprised to see the man that stepped out of the shadows clustered in a

corner.  He might have been alive, so real did he look, so solid, but Quentin

heard his voice only in his mind, and realized that, as life-like as he might

seem, Quentin could see the wall through his enormous bulk.  He wasn’t whole —

certainly wasn’t alive — and might still be banished forever.  There was a

glimmer of hope, no matter how slim.  "My dear boy, it has been a long time.

How well you look."

 

"You saw to that," he said.  "It was your idea to employ the services of the

mad Mr.  Tate, as I recall."

The ghost chuckled humorously.  "And yet you seem so ungrateful.  My dear

Quentin, I provided you with a life much longer than the ordinary mortal.  I

tamed the beast within you. You’ve had an extended life, extended days of

youth, much more than the ordinary mortal is granted."

Quentin sneered.  "Which you gave me out of the goodness of your own heart, I

suppose."

"You know the answer to that," the ghost said.

"How did you return to this place?" Quentin asked.  "How long have you been ...

existing here?"

"Oh, a long, long time," the ghost said with a knowing smile.  "Your cousin

Elizabeth has been a most gracious host, though I fear that her tenure in my

service has regrettably come to an end.  She has spent the majority of the past

twenty years supplying me with the ...  fuel, I suppose you would say, that I

require to rebuild my strength." It gestured with its still-withered paw at the

corpse of the warlock in the corner.  "With the help of the disposable Mr.

Blair I was able to finally gather enough strength to materialize." It stepped

forward, its eyes behind those grotesque lenses gleaming with hunger.  "To

materialize and to do what else I have to do."

Quentin bowed his head.  "I know what that means," he said, and an interior

voice railed, Why don’t you fight him?  Why don’t you struggle?

Because it would do no good, he told that voice.  He felt heavy and lethargic,

not himself at all, and that was good.  That was just fine.  All he really

wanted to do was sleep.  Whatever this monster had in mind ...  well, it was

out of Quentin’s hands now, wasn’t it?

"Better to go on thinking that," the ghost said soothingly, and caressed

Quentin’s face with that terrible hand, though in reality it had crumbled to

ashes twenty years before as Elizabeth had fed his body to the hungry flames on

the pyre she had built in the middle of the woods one black midnight twenty

years ago.  "There isn’t really anything you can do to stop me, is there? No.

And why would you want to?  You’re going to go on living, my boy, for a very

long time.  You’ll have Collinwood and the rest of the world.  Yes, the rest of

the world will come shortly."

Fight him, you fool!  that forceful voice, the voice of the real Quentin

Collins who wanted to go on living and loving, screamed inside of him.  Fight

him!  Don’t let him take your life ...  you know what he wants ...  you know

what he’ll do ...

"Shhhhh," the horror before him cooed, and Quentin knew that there was no hope,

that the beast would win, and there was nothing he could do.  He opened his

eyes, wide and blue and filled with childlike wonder, as that leering face swam

before him, blotting out the world.  "It’s almost over now."

I love you, Vicki, he wanted to cry, and then he felt something slide onto his

finger, something cold and hard, and then he knew only darkness, nothing but

darkness, now, and forever and ever.

4 (Stokes)

He wanted to scream, but found that he was utterly unable to even open his

mouth. Damn this paralysis, he thought, damn this stupid, worthless body!  He

could feel the pain from the lacerations that ...  that demoness had

administered him, but they seemed dim and unimportant. Even the blood that

stained the sheets a dark crimson was unimportant.  Nothing mattered now but

the scene that was unfolding before him.

The dripping, bloated corpse of what had been his beloved daughter had emerged

from the bathroom, her eyes onyx and her mouth fixed in a bloody grin.  She was

naked, and this was somehow the most horrible of all.  He could see that her

skin had gone a dusky purple, and seemed ready to slough off her bones.

"Embecile," Carolyn spat in French, and wielded the tiny knife that was still

stained with the Professor’s blood.  "Why am I always interrupted?  Who are you

to come to this place to stop me?"

Daddy, the thing that had been Alexis Stokes said with puffy lips.  You will

leave him alone.  It paused, as though thinking, and added, chillingly, He is

mine.

Carolyn thrust out her chin defiantly.  Why is she speaking French?  Stokes

wondered, and when did Carolyn Stoddard become a murderess?  All the pieces had

come together now — it must have been Carolyn who had killed Mr.  Wells that

day when Quentin and Stokes had confronted Chris Jennings at the Inn, and he

bet that she’d had something to do with Mrs. Pettibone’s death as well, and

then he wondered if she hadn’t been somehow involved in the still unexplained

disappearance of Tony Trask all those months ago — but how had it happened?

 Then he remembered that day at the Old House so long ago, when Julia had nearly

succumbed to the demonic infection passed to her by her one-time monstrous

lover, the day when Carolyn, eavesdropping they had supposed, had been attacked

by ...  by something, but they never found out what, and she would never tell.

Demonic possession?  he wondered now as the two women faced off.  Could that be

it?  But a demon that spoke French, of all things ...  was that even possible?

One look at the corpse of his daughter in the doorway of the bathroom, and he

wondered at this point why he even bothered to think such a question.

"You’re wrong, ma petit," Carolyn said smugly.  "Dear Professor Stokes is mine.

I have been thwarted at every turn these days, and I will not stand for this

...  his ..." Her face twisted into triumph as the word came to her.  "...

insubordination!" she crowed, and brandished the stiletto at the approaching

corpse.  "In the name of Alhazard the unholy, I command you to leave this

place!"

The advancing corpse merely looked at her impassively, and Carolyn threw her

head back and howled her fury.

You can do nothing to me.  Leave this place while you still can.  Leave while I

still allow you to go.

Carolyn scowled, her eyes blazing with madness and her mouth petulant, and at

last threw down the stiletto and screamed, "Fine!  Have it your own way!" She

wheeled to face the Professor, who’s face contorted with fear, and leveled a

finger at him with childish fury.  "But I will dance on your grave, old man,

mark my words.  I’ll ...  I’ll piss on it!  See if I don’t!"

Go, the spirit growled, be gone from this place.

Carolyn fled, stopping once only to retrieve the stiletto, and then she was

gone.

The ghost of his daughter loomed above him, her eyes wide and feral and hollow

and black, and her mouth stretched into a grin as dark as her eyes.

 

Alone at last, it said.  It reached out its wrinkled, pruny fingers, reaching

for his throat, and its head lowered towards his as though longing for a final

kiss ...  and then it just wasn’t there anymore. Without any warning at all the

thing that had been his daughter evaporated, leaving no trace of itself.  It

was as if the ghost of Alexis Stokes had never been.

Stokes blinked, one of the only acts he was capable of these days.  Where had

she gone?  She hadn’t been summoned away, had she?  Had Blair some further use

for her?

That’s not it and you know it, he thought, and realization dawned on him.  It’s

Blair that’s been summoned away, if that’s what happened to him, and I doubt

like hell that’s all it was. More likely than not he’s been disposed of in some

way.  Quentin?  Could it have been Quentin?  If Nicholas Blair had been burned

and his ashes scattered, then it was possible that a great deal of his spells

had been undone, which would explain why Alexis had vanished when she did.

He felt an unexpected pang at that.  Even though he knew in his heart that the

thing that had saved him from Carolyn’s killer’s blade, the thing that would

have throttled him as he lay paralyzed in his bed, wasn’t his daughter at all,

it still hurt him to lose her again.

I almost wish that something had happened to Blair, he thought ruefully.  I’d

like to kill that bastard myself.

Now, if I could only move ...

His right finger twitched, and he felt hope bloom in his heart like a rose in

early spring.

The door to his room opened that moment, and a nurse poked her head in.

"Everything okay in here?" she asked, and smiled at the Professor.  He wondered

if she hadn’t been his student at one time or another, and hoped that he had

given her some kind of decent mark.  She stood beside his bed, still smiling,

and in the dim light of the room she didn’t see the bloody slash wounds on his

chest.

Then her eyes widened and she began to scream, and Stokes closed his eyes,

tired, and thought, Quentin, where the hell are you?

5 (Petofi — Endgame)

In the end they almost ran into Julia.

Barnabas had followed Vicki, dashing through the house swifter than any deer,

up endless staircases and down a multitude of hallways, more than he was sure

Collinwood possessed, and he wondered for the first time if there wasn’t some

dark magic at work in this house that wanted to prevent them from reaching

their goal in time to stop ...  to stop what?  He still wasn’t sure.  If only I

hadn’t been so blinded by my feelings for Vicki, he thought, I may have been

able to stop this.  But then he knew that wasn’t true.  Whatever Cousin

Elizabeth had put into motion twenty years ago when she had murdered the man

responsible for destroying her beloved baby sister, most of the dark business

in this house the past few days was completely out of Barnabas Collins’

control.  All that mattered now was that they stop that same darkness from

spreading anymore than it already had.

"Here!" Vicki shouted, then drew back, startled, and they both saw Julia

standing stock-still in the doorway to what they thought was an abandoned room

in an abandoned wing of the house.  You of all people should know that

appearances are deceptive, Barnabas thought reprovingly, but it was too late

for recriminations now.

"Julia!" Barnabas cried, but she seemed not to hear.  She stepped forward, into

the room, and they followed her.  Barnabas’ heart was thudding a sickening

rhythm in his chest.

A man stepped out of the shadows and stood before them, and he was grinning.

His eyes glinted a cold, heartless blue.

"Quentin!" Vicki cried.  "Quentin, you have to get out of here.  Something

terrible is about to happen!"

Quentin ignored her.  His eyes were on Julia, and she was staring at him,

hypnotized, like a bird before the sparkling, jewel-like eyes of a swaying

cobra.  None of them knew that it wasn’t Quentin she saw.  "Jules," he purred

in a deadly soft voice.  "Jules, you let me down."

"I — I didn’t mean to," she said in a sob, and held her hands before her mouth

like a terrified little girl who has just handed her daddy a switch she cut

herself.

"I know you didn’t," Quentin said in that same soft voice that wasn’t his own.

He placed his hands on Julia’s shoulders, and she looked up at him with wide

eyes.  "But that doesn’t matter. You failed me, and I don’t forgive mistakes."

Before any of them could stop him, and with an eerie speed that was serpent

quick, Quentin seized Julia’s head in his enormous hands and twisted it

savagely to the right.  They heard her neck snap, a dry sound like a pencil

breaking, and then she crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"Julia!" Barnabas roared, and would’ve dashed forward, but Vicki stayed him.

Her face was very pale, like cream, and she was breathing in heavy gasps.

"No, Barnabas," she said.  "Stay away from him or he’ll kill you too."

Tears ran down Barnabas’ face.  "But that bastard killed Julia!" he sobbed, his

voice torn with anguish.

"That wasn’t Quentin," Vicki said, and repeated, "Stay away from him.  There’s

nothing you can do for her now."

Oh yes I can, Barnabas thought, teeth gritted, I can hurt him in ways he never

dreamed of ...  I can show him more pain that he’s felt in a century of living

—

"Very observant, my dear girl," the man who wasn’t Quentin said.  "You’ve been

doing your homework, I see."

"You’ve been calling to me ever since I came to this house," Vicki said in a

steady, level voice. "You wanted me to release you, but in the end you didn’t

need me.  What have you done to Quentin?"

 "You needn’t worry about him anymore, my dear," the man replied.  He was

absently twisting a large silver ring on his finger, and she saw that it was

set with a ruby that was garishly oversized.  It was a ring Quentin had never

worn before.  "Quentin Collins has ceased to bother anyone else. Not the

unfortunate Miss Evans, not the regrettable Mr.  Blair, nor the

soon-to-be-dispensed-of Mr.  Barnabas Collins." His smiled faded.  "And you’re

wrong, my dear.  I do need you. Desperately."

He’s right, you know, Louise said from behind him, but only Vicki heard.  He

does need you.  And once he’s taken what he wants from you, no one will be able

to stop him.  You’re a doorway, I’m afraid, and he knows it.  THEY know it too,

but you needn’t worry about THEM for the time being.

"Run, Barnabas," Vicki said, and never turned around.  Her eyes weren’t on

Quentin, however, but on the ghost of the girl who had given her birth.  She

was wearing a pretty white dress, and her eyes were like violets.  "Get out of

this house and don’t come back.  There’s nothing you can do right now."

Barnabas will help you, Louise said.  You’ll need him.  But not now.

"But Vicki —" Barnabas protested, but she cut him off.

"Barnabas, if you love me, leave me here," she said, and she knew that was

cold, but if he stayed here now he would die, or interfere with what was going

to happen.  She had only the dimmest idea of exactly what that was, but he

couldn’t be here when it happened.

Stokes will help him, Louise said.  Stokes will come to him, but Barnabas must

get away, because this man before you will kill him without another thought.

Barnabas is dangerous to him, and he knows it.

"Barnabas, you have to go," Vicki said, and added, "Help will come to you soon,

but you have to run."

"Yes, run, Barnabas," Quentin cried cheerfully, and flapped his arms like a

large bat. "You don’t want to boogeyman to get you."

"Vicki," he said one last time, and she turned to face him.  Her face was very

white and calm, but her eyes blazed with purpose.  In the end it was that look

of determination in her eyes that convinced him.  Strength emanated from her

waves, and she would brook no argument. He felt that in his bones.  He nodded

once, and said not a word, but disappeared out the door.

 

"I’m going to kill him anyway, you know," Quentin said.  "You won’t be able to

help him. No one will.  He can’t even help himself." He chuckled, a low, evil

sound that she knew wasn’t Quentin at all.

You have to find the Gypsy woman, Louise said, and now she stood directly

behind Quentin.  Her name is Magda, and she will help you.  Find Magda.  That

will be your place to start.

Quentin held out his hand, the one that was now heavy with that terrible jewel.

It pulsed an evil red,casting a feverish scarlet glow over his fingers and

palm.  "Take my hand, Victoria," he said, "my darling one.  Take my hand and

come with me, and the world will be ours from sea to sea."

"You’re a fool," Vicki said.  "You’ll never win."

Quentin looked honestly surprised, but didn’t withdraw his hand.  "But I

already have, my dear!" he said.  "Collinwood is mine as we speak, and soon

I’ll have the world.  And you will share it with me."

"You lie," Vicki said, and thought of poor dead Elizabeth, and Roger’s ghost,

and her mother.  He had contaminated her mother somehow, she knew that much,

and left her to die.  And he would pay for that.  He would pay most dearly.

But not now, Louise said, and Vicki couldn’t see her.  Quentin blocked her out

of view completely.  Now time has grown short.  It’s time that you got on your

way.  You have to go back, and you have to do it now.

She still didn’t know what that meant, but she had an idea that she would know,

and shortly.

Take his hand, Victoria.  Let him gloat, thinking he has won.

"Take my hand, Victoria," Quentin said, and the smirk on his face twisted into

her heart like the twisted blade of a kris.  For a moment horrible doubts

assailed her, and her she almost retracted her hand as it floated in the air,

uncertain.

Do it, my darling.  All will be well and all will be well and all manner of

things will be well. Trust me.  I love you, my darling Victoria, and if you

love me too you’ll trust me.

"I trust you," Vicki said, and placed her hand in Quentin’s.  His face split

into an evil grin, thinking that she had spoken to him, but then the grin faded

and lapsed into confusion. Something was wrong — something was very, very

wrong, and he tried to draw his hand back.

Now, my darling.

Vicki knew what it was, and she smiled before the end, before oblivion crashed

over her in waves.  In the instant her hand dropped into Quentin’s, Louise’s

was there first, and she had used his own power against him, used it, refined

it, and lost herself in it in the one instant when the power flared up around

them, white instead of black, glorious, shining white, and in that instant she

sent her little girl back to where she was needed, where she had to go to save

all those she loved.

Quentin’s howl of rage and loss was swept away in an icy wind that enveloped

Vicki and whirled her away, far out of his reach.  White light burst up around

them, brilliant, glowing radiance that the thing inside of Quentin could not

bear, a fire that burned away what was left of the ghost of Louise Collins, and

when it had died down, Quentin was alone in the room with the corpse of Julia

Hoffman.

Vicki was gone.

She had stood for the first time, had stood and stayed true, and now she had

gone back just as she was destined to do, swept away into the stream of a time

long dead, but a time that continually reached into the present with its icy,

calculating fingers, and now those same fingers had drawn her out of the world.

 

"My name is Victoria Winters.  My journey is beginning.  A journey that I hope

will open the doors of life to me and link my past with my future.  A journey

that will bring me to a strange and dark place, to the edge of the sea ...

high atop Widow’s Hill ...  to a house called Collinwood.  A world I’ve never

known, with people I’ve never met, people who are still only shadows in my

mind, but who will soon fill all the days and nights of my tomorrows."

Shadows on the Wall Chapter Forty-One

Chapter 41 – Come Into My Parlor

By Nancybe

Voiceover (Thayer David): The inhabitants of Collinwood are like so many tiny

flies this fateful day at the Great Estate, and unknown to them, a greedy

spider lays in wait for each of them in turn…

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly, " 'Tis the

prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a

winding stair, And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."

"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding

stair can ne'er come down again." (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary

Howitt, 1804)

 

"If you’ll wait in here, Sheriff, I’ll see if I can find Mrs.  Stoddard." Julia

Hoffman wearily led the town clown (a moniker unfairly bestowed upon him by

some of the locals) into the drawing room.

"Thank you, Dr.  Hoffman.  It’s never easy to deliver this kind of news…." His

voice trailed off as his face creased into a confused frown.  He took a step

forward from where he stood by the massive fireplace.  "Did you hear something,

doctor?"

Oh yes, Julia had heard something all right.  Something that had sounded like

screaming.  Like *Vicki* screaming.  What in hell was happening now?  And why

did it have to happen while the local law enforcement was ensconced in the drawing

room?

Julia fought to keep her thoughts from crossing her face.  "Yes, I thought I

did, Sheriff.  It was probably just the young governess discovering that mice

like to live with the rich as well as with the poor." She managed a short

chuckle and was relieved to see him answer with a slight grin.  "I had better

check on her while I look for Mrs.  Stoddard.  Please make yourself comfortable

while you wait."

She hurried out of the room stopping only to shut the thick drawing room doors

firmly behind her. Vicki’s caterwauling had momentarily stopped, but Julia was

taking no chances on the lawman hearing more.

*****

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon

my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn

around, the sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to rest awhile, I'll

snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it

said They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!" (Excerpt from "The

Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

Barnabas’ face wore a "deer in the headlights" look as he gazed up at Vicki

from where he sat huddled on the floor.  At that moment, he desperately wished

that he could use those I-Ching wands, the ones that Eliot had shown him once,

to disappear into another time. Crouched on the floor of Elizabeth’s bedroom

holding her already cooling body, her neck grossly swollen and bearing dark

purple bruises that matched the shape of hands, *his* hands – how was he going

to explain this?

 Vicki’s scream was piercing but surprisingly brief.  Her wide eyes surveyed the

scene she had stumbled upon as her mind tired to make sense of it.  Barnabas’

tortured face, Mrs. Stoddard’s limp body splayed out in his arms….

Her mind instantly rewound to a different but similar scene: Roger and Julia

crumpled like discarded puppets before the fireplace downstairs, the putrid

scent of burned flesh overpowering the natural mustiness of the room, the feel

of Julia’s horribly mangled skin beneath her fingers.  The faded memory leapt

with full-force into her mind bringing with it all the sights, sounds and

smells that she had experienced that day.

Without a glance at Barnabas, Victoria knelt beside her fallen employer and

gently but firmly placed pale and trembling hands around the woman’s darkened

neck.  The young woman had not uttered one sound since her initial scream, and

Barnabas watched in amazement as she went about her task with the

single-mindedness he had seen Julia exhibit so many times as she tended to the

sick and injured.

Vicki waited for the now remembered sensations to course through her hands and

arms – the heat and pins and needles that had previously accompanied her

"healings." She forced herself to concentrate on nothing but Elizabeth’s life

force, on her heart pumping blood through her veins again, on her lungs

breathing in air, on the skin of her bruised, black neck becoming pink and

smooth again.  She closed her eyes tightly and envisioned a living, breathing,

vital Elizabeth Collins Stoddard standing before her, ready to issue her next

order to the staff of Collinwood. Nothing existed in Vicki’s world but

Elizabeth and the power in Vicki’s own hands.

 Elizabeth did not move.

Her heart did not beat; her lungs did not breathe air.  She remained as still

and lifeless as when Victoria had entered the death room.  Vicki opened her

eyes and desperately looked at Elizabeth, searching, praying for some

infinitesimal sign of life.

There was nothing.

The governess was unwilling to give up; it had taken more than one try with

Julia, too. She closed her eyes and redoubled her efforts, failing to hear the

startled gasp from the new arrival who stood in the doorway.

Julia Hoffman took in the scene before her: a miserable looking Barnabas held

his dead cousin in his arms, and Julia immediately surmised that Elizabeth must

have caught him reading her diaries and something had happened between them.

Barnabas looked into his friend’s narrowed eyes, and she could read the myriad

of emotions that swam in them – fear, pain, guilt, and for some reason, a small

dash of hope.  For a moment, her heart went out to him, and the doctor wanted

to hold him, to comfort him, to bear his hurt for him.  But then she realized

that those emotions belonged to the *old* Julia Hoffman.  The *new* Julia’s

sympathetic face abruptly hardened into a cold mask, and the only emotion left

inside of her for Barnabas Collins was disgust.

 She turned her attention to Vicki.  What *was* the silly girl doing?  Why, she

was performing her little parlor trick on Elizabeth, the same one she had used

on Julia and Roger that horrible morning that they had escaped from Cassandra’s

control.  Only it didn’t seem to be working this time; Liz was turning grayer

by the moment.

Julia jumped when the motionless governess started a little.  Vicki had finally

begun to feel some kind of sensation.  A puzzled frown distorted her pretty

face.  She *was* feeling something, but it didn’t seem to be Mrs.  Stoddard’s

life force.  It felt like *someone else’s*, and it…was…horrible. It emanated

evil and death and rot, and if she could see it, she knew it would resemble a

mass of maggots and other damp, squirmy things that she might find if she

turned over a rock in the woods. And if she could smell it, she knew it would

smell coppery like the scent of blood.  She had unconsciously begun to moan low

in her throat, and then its horror hit her full-force.  She gasped as her eyes

flew open, and she let go of Elizabeth as if the woman’s body had burst into

flame.

"No!  Noooo!" she screamed as she scrabbled backward away from the matriarch’s

body. She opened her mouth wide, let out one bloodcurdling scream and collapsed

in a heap in the corner of the room.

It took Julia but a moment to recover from her astonishment at Vicki’s actions,

and she rushed to the unconscious girl.  Barnabas quickly divested himself of

the body he was holding and hovered over Julia as she checked Vicki’s thready

pulse.

"Julia, help her please," he pleaded, and Julia could tell from his voice that

he was descending into near panic.  Waves of loathing for both Barnabas and

Vicki crashed over Julia, but her doctor’s training took over as she evaluated

the governess’ condition.  But as she worked, she could not contain the

thoughts that flooded her brain.

*He loves her.  Not *me*.  *Her*.  I wish she’d die.*

But as soon as she had formulated that thought, a foreign voice boomed in her

head.  *No!  You *must* help her.  She is my daughter.*

Julia instinctively knew that she had no choice but to obey the being who

commanded her.  His voice, his *will* buzzed in her head like thousands of

angry bees, stinging her brain and making it swell and throb.  And then she

heard another voice, one that was softer, sweeter… and familiar to her.

*Do as he says, Jules.*

Julia stood up abruptly and tried to keep from wobbling on her feet.  "Help me

get her to her room, Barnabas," she managed to utter with authority in her

voice.

*****

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do To prove that

warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry, good store of

all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"

"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's

in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!" (Excerpt from "The Spider and the

Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

Once Julia had Victoria situated in her own bed, she withdrew a hypodermic from

her bag and plunged a strong sedative into the girl’s pale arm.

"Is she going to be all right?" Barnabas asked from the end of the bed.  He was

wringing his hands in the peculiar way that he had, and Julia wanted to slap

him to get him to stop it.

"I don’t know, Barnabas," she answered in a flat voice.

"I love her, Julia," he said pathetically.

It was too much.  It was just too damn much for her to bear any longer.  He was

such a muttonhead.  She turned to give him a piece of her mind when she

remembered what – whom – she had left in the drawing room.

"Barnabas!  The sheriff is here!  He’s waiting in the drawing room to tell

Elizabeth that they’ve found Roger’s body-"

"They’ve found Roger?"

"Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now.  Go send him away!  I’ll stay here

with Vicki.  He heard her scream, and I concocted some story that she must have

seen a mouse or something. Now hurry!"

Barnabas cast a doubtful glance at Vicki’s almost lifeless body and then

hurried from the room.

*****

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise; How handsome

are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little

looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; If you step in one moment, dear, you shall

behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased

to say; And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day." (Excerpt from

"The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

Julia turned back to her patient.  She had no idea what had caused Vicki to

become distraught and then lose consciousness.  Without a cause, she could do

no more than treat the symptoms.  But treat them she would; she had her orders.

She sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of Vicki’s cool wrist.  The

sweet-sour scent of lemon drops enveloped her before she could concentrate on

the girl’s pulse, and a shiver shimmied down her spine as she heard the

sibilant tones behind her.

"Kill him, Jules.  It’s what *he* wants."

She turned slowly, unsure of whether she wanted him to be there or not.

"Kill who?" came out in a tiny squeak, a sound completely out of character for

her.

"You know who, Jules.  Barnabas Collins." His smile was sweet, but his eyes

were as hard as diamonds.

She rose shakily from the bed and turned to fully face him.  "Ray, I can’t!

I’m a doctor! And yes, my feelings for Barnabas have changed, but I *have*

cared for him-"

"You’ve *loved* him, Jules, and he’s done nothing but use it to his own

advantage.  After all you’ve done for that bastard, and he still treats you

like the hired help!  ‘Help her, Julia,’" he mocked.  "He knows how you feel,

Jules, and still her rubs his love for Victoria Winters right in your face.  He

loves *her*, not *you*.  He deserves to DIE."

Julia felt her brother’s stinging words prying open the black hole that existed

in her heart, and in that black hole lived the knowledge that the man she had

loved with her very essence did not love her, would never love her.  But how

could she kill him?

"Ray, I’m not a murderer!  I-"

"And then there’s what he did to Tom…."

Her jade eyes blinked rapidly at the mention of her dead lover’s name.  A

little more persuasion, and he knew he would have her.

*****

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the

silly Fly would soon come back again; So he wove a subtle web in a little

corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to

his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with

the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest

upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as

lead." (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

Barnabas had little trouble convincing the sheriff that David’s governess had

indeed come across nothing more important than a mouse.  He also told the man

that Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was not at home but assured him that he would

give her the sad news about Roger and have her contact him as soon as possible.

"Perhaps Mrs.  Stoddard should hire a heartier governess, Mr.  Collins," the

lawman commented as he headed out the door.

"Perhaps she should, Sheriff," Barnabas answered sadly.  Once the door had

shut, he started back up the stairs, anxious to check on Vicki.  He heard the

door whoosh open below him, and looked down quickly, afraid that the Sheriff

had not been so easily fooled.

"Barnabas, what is it?" Quentin called from the foot of the stairs.  "You’re

even paler than usual."

His cousin’s humor unwelcome at such a time, Barnabas snapped, "You’ve no idea

what has happened here, Quentin.  Among other things," he paused searching for

control of his voice, "Vicki has collapsed."

Quentin was immediately paralyzed with concern.  "Vicki collapsed?  What

happened? How is she?"

"I can’t answer your questions, Quentin." The rivalry for Vicki’s affections

was suddenly in the open again; the air fairly crackled with the tension

between the two men.  "Vicki’s resting in her room.  Julia is with her."

Barnabas continued up the stairs, Quentin close on his heels.

*****

Alas, alas!  how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering

words, came slowly flitting by; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near

and nearer drew, - Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple

hue; Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing!  At last, Up

jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his

winding stair, into his dismal den Within his little parlor - but she ne'er

came out again! (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

That which had made up Julia Hoffman had all but disappeared.  The shell that

was her body remained, but the essence of her - the love, the compassion, the

humanity - had oozed out of her like so much jelly.  All that was left was the

anger and hurt that Barnabas Collins had caused her.

Barnabas quietly opened the door to Vicki’s room and softly closed it behind

him.  It took him a moment to adjust to the atmosphere of the room.  Something

was different – the air was heavy and thick with an oppression that hung like a

smoky haze throughout the room.  And beneath the fog, an underlying sweet-sour

scent lingered.

Julia stood with her back to the room, her arms crossed tightly across her

chest.  She did not acknowledge Barnabas’ presence in any way.

"Julia, how is Vicki?"

"Your sweet governess is going to be fine, Barnabas." Her tone rained down on

him like acid, and she did not turn to face him.  "*He* assured me of that; he

wants her to live."

"Who are you talking about, Julia?" Her tone frightened him - it was as sharp

as broken glass, and he winced at the sound of it.

When she finally turned around and met his eyes, he was shocked by the open

hatred etched upon her face.  "Never mind, Barnabas.  It doesn’t matter

anymore."

 Overcome with concern for her, Barnabas took a step toward her.  "Julia-"

"Stay where you are.  I don’t want you anywhere near me.  I can barely stand to

be in the same room with you, to breathe the same air you breathe." Her voice

was a low growl now, the shards of glass within it grating against each other.

"Julia!"

"What’s the matter, Barnabas?  Did you think I would remain your loyal friend

forever? How much of a fool do you think I am?"

"Julia, I have never thought you a fool.  And we have been friends, *are*

friends, close friends…." He was at a loss with this stranger before him.

"Well, not anymore!  How long did you think I would put up with your bullshit?

Or did you never even bother to think about it?  Trustworthy Julia Hoffman,

loyal as a puppy dog.  Good old Julia, safe because she was just an old maid.

Well, I’ll tell you something, mister.  Tom Jennings didn’t just want me for my

mind and my scintillating conversation.  I showed him some pretty hot times!"

Barnabas Collins blushed down to the roots of his thick, dark hair.  This

didn’t sound at all like Julia.  Julia was a lady, and ladies did not speak

this way.  She had never spoken this way, especially not to *him*.  And her

face was so twisted and reddened by rage that he hardly recognized her.

"Julia, whatever is wrong, I’m sure we can work this out-"

"Whatever is wrong!" she interrupted him with a shriek of icy laughter that

instantly turned venomous.  "What is wrong is that I had the extreme misfortune

of meeting you and the further bad taste to fall in love with you.  What is

wrong is that I was good enough when you needed protection, good enough when

you needed to be cured, but never good enough to be anything more than a

friend.  What is wrong is that despite knowing how I felt about you, you

continually reminded me of your feelings for Vicki, a simpering fool of a girl

who is young enough to be your great, great, great, great, great granddaughter!

Do you have any idea how ridiculous you have looked, Barnabas?"

The man who stood before Julia Hoffman was rendered completely and utterly

speechless.  In thirty seconds, his closest friend in the world had told him

she loved him, had insulted the woman he loved and had painted he himself as a

fool.  He didn’t know whether to be angry, concerned, frightened - or a

combination of all three emotions.  How could Julia be acting this way,

speaking this way?

"Julia, I-"

"Barnabas, do you have any idea what my life was like before you came into it?

I was in a relationship with a man who adored me, who wanted to marry me.  And

I was foolish enough to let him go because of you.  And then with your help,

that witch of a wife of yours made him…" she swallowed a ragged sob, "made him

into a monster, and he almost succeeded into making me one of the damned as

well!"

Collins hung his head as her words struck an emotional blow.  His voice was low

and mournful as he answered her.  " I never intended to cause Tom to become

what I was, Julia.  I will always regret it."

She drew her head up, and her wild eyes glittered like prisms in the low light

of the room.  At one time, she had accepted his remorse for what had happened

to Tom.  That seemed like eons ago now, and she blamed him for Tom’s death as

well as her own near-death at Tom’s hands.

"Well, sometimes being sorry is just not good enough, Barnabas.  Your reckless

actions almost cost me my soul.  Which I might add almost happened to me again

at the hands of that harpy you married.  Do you have any idea how that bitch

raped my mind and body over and over again just because I was your friend?"

 She looked at him, really looked at him for perhaps the first time and wanted

him dead, dead at her hands.  Hadn’t she suffered enough on his account?  Yes,

she would kill him *now* in front of his precious Vicki.  What a shame that the

dear thing wasn’t awake to witness it.  Kill him, murder him once and for all.

Ray was right.  All she needed was the means with which to do it.  As she

screamed at him, she desperately scanned the room for something she could use

as a weapon - a deadly weapon.

Barnabas Collins was a man given to feelings of acute guilt for his many

mistakes, and Julia’s words and accusations nearly caused him to drown under

the waves of guilt that washed over him. The only thing keeping him afloat was

the growing suspicion that something was wrong with Julia, terribly, horribly

wrong.  His embattled mind tried to sort the pieces of the puzzle, to make

sense of what was happening in this room.  It had been a strange day even for

Collinwood – Elizabeth dying, Vicki’s collapse and now Julia’s unexplained

rage.  He watched perplexed as Julia’s eyes darted around the room.  And then

suddenly, he inexplicably caught a scent that smelled very much like the

furniture polish used throughout the house by Mrs.  Johnson.  The scent rapidly

grew in intensity until he was sure that he was smelling the very strong odor

of …lemons.

It was then that Barnabas noticed that Julia had stopped her frantic visual

search of the room. Now she stood rigidly before him, her attention focused

raptly behind him.  He turned slowly, afraid of what he might see, but the

corner of the room behind him was as empty as when he had entered several

minutes ago.

Julia Hoffman’s eyes, however, did not see an empty corner.  She saw a scene

from her own distant past, a scene that she had fought to rid her mind of for

years.  A thick, braided rope now hung from the ceiling of Victoria Winter’s

room, and the loop in the rope was not empty. It was knotted tightly around a

once handsome face, a boyish face that had teased her and made her laugh until

her sides had ached.  That face was now bloated, its eyes bulging grotesquely

from its sockets, its flesh a ghoulish purple hue.  As Barnabas watched his

friend's face, Julia gasped and shoved a tight fist into her gaping mouth.

"No…." she whispered hoarsely.  "Ray…."

The terror inside Barnabas Collins grew until tentacles of fear gripped his

insides in a vice.  What in God’s name was going on with Julia?

He reached out and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders.  "What *is* it, Julia?"

he demanded.

 His actions broke the spell she was under, and she shook him off with a quick

jerk.  "I told you to stay away from me," she spit through clenched teeth.

He stepped back from her, wounded and still alarmed.  But the doctor quickly

lost interest in him as she once again concentrated on something over his

shoulder.

A relieved smile spread like warm sunshine over her tortured features.  It was

Ray again, but this time, he looked warm and alive.  He was no longer a victim

of the rope but was instead standing *next* to the ominous noose, gesturing

to it with a nod of his head.  He was smiling too, smiling and gesturing toward

the rope.

As she watched Raymond, a gravelly voice filled her brain: *He’s here to help

you, doctor.  To provide you with the deadly weapon you were seeking."

Understanding dawned on Julia like the sun emerging from a thundercloud.  Of

course – she should have know the moment she had seen Ray.

*Use it, Jules.  You know you want to.  Need to.  *Have to*.  Not just for HIM.

 For *you*.*

It was then that Julia Hoffman knew that she wasn’t going to have to do this

alone.

*****

And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly,

flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed; Unto an evil counsellor close heart,

and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

(Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)

Quentin Collins raced down the hallway to Vicki’s room.  Only when he finally

stopped running, he realized that he was nowhere *near* Vicki’s room or even

the section of the house where her room was located.  Instead, he found himself

in the West Wing, heading down one of the forgotten corridors, its splendor

tarnished by age, neglect and something else he could not put his finger on.

He halted abruptly wondering how he had gotten here, why he had hurried here

instead of to his intended destination.  After Barnabas’ enigmatic announcement

that Vicki was ill (damn the man and his territorialism anyway), he had been

desperate to see her for himself.  But now he was here, and he was filled with

a queer anticipation of what lay ahead of him.  He turned his head back the way

he had come, telling himself he had to get back to Vicki, but his feet refused

to move in any direction but forward.  His head snapped back to the dark angled

hallway that stretched before him and felt an almost magnetic pull toward a

secret and alluring place.  It was too strong and too delightful to resist, and

he started forward with a silly little smile painted on his face.

He stumbled when he suddenly felt something - *someone*?  – determinedly push

him backward. Something (someone?) didn’t want him going any further.  Why?  He

belonged here; he could feel the rightness of it.  He stepped forward and was

shoved back again, but he could sense that the force in his way was weak, and

pushing back, he felt the barrier crumple under his strength and

single-mindedness.  It was his destiny to follow this path; he could feel it.

He was *called.*

 

He looked behind him (*Lot’s wife, Lot’s wife*, a voice in his head warned him)

and thought he saw the faint image of a tall, blonde woman standing there.  She

held her pretty head in her hands, and she was weeping.

"Beth?" he called out in confusion.

Yes, it *was* Beth.  He took a step toward her, and she held out her arms to

him, entreating him to come away with her.

But before he could react, a wave of evil coursed down the corridor, shattering

his beloved’s image into thousands of fragments until the air was translucent

once more.

The corrupt force advanced upon Quentin Collins, seeming to ruffle his hair

almost affectionately, and for an absurd moment, he though he might giggle with

pleasure.  It called to him, it wanted him, and he was going to belong to it.

He followed it with an excited spring in his step, thoughts of his lovely Beth

long forgotten.

*****

 Nicholas Blair did not hate very many creatures.  Oh, he certainly felt disdain

toward the vast majority of living creatures, but not hatred.  Hatred wasted

too much energy and was reserved for those of whom one was afraid.  And

Nicholas had little reason to be afraid of almost anyone or anything, and so he

hated little.

But Nicholas Blair *hated* the being who spoke to him now from the inner depths

of the West Wing of Collinwood.

"Who are you?" Nicholas demanded, forced to call out into the nothingness

before him. Oh, how he hated facing an unseen enemy.

A raspy chuckle resonated in his head.  *I am your superior, Nicholas.  Oh yes,

I know who you are.  Silly of me to mistake you for Evan earlier, but I was

…weaker then.  I am *much* stronger now.*

The voice's smugness infuriated Nicholas.  Smug was afterall *his* bailiwick,

and he had become quite adept at it over the years.

"*My* superior?" Nicholas sneered.  "I hardly think so, sir.  I have only one

superior, the Prince of Darkness, and I warn you that I serve him well."

A raucous laugh rang between his ears until Blair was forced to squeeze his

eyes shut and clutch at his head in order to bear the force of it.

*You, Mr.  Blair, are nothing but a puling minion!  Your powers are that of a

newborn babe in comparison to the ancientness of my evil.  Nevertheless, what

little power you do possess can be of nothing but help to me.*

"Help to you?  Once again, I hardly think so.  I-"

Nicholas’ words abruptly dissolved into nothingness as he struggled to catch

his breath. Something had descended upon him, a noxious cloud that pulsated

around him with an emerald phosphorescence.  It swirled around him from head to

toe, licking at him, forcing entry though his ears, nose and mouth.  And once

inside of him, he could feel tendrils of it seeping into every bone, every

organ, until it had a stranglehold upon him inside and out.

Nicholas mustered all of his considerable strength and will to escape from the

body he had been utilizing.  He had escaped from this form before, from many

different forms in fact; this body was merely a convenience that he used when

he walked among humans.  He was quite fond of the darkly handsome features of

Mr.  Nicholas Blair, but at this moment, he knew he must leave it behind -

immediately.

*Your efforts are useless, Mr.  Blair.  You cannot escape me.* The voice seemed

to issue from the vilest pits of Hell, a place that Nicholas knew very well.

The warlock continued to struggle but HE was right - *he could not get out.* He

was trapped in this accursed human form.

And by the time Nicholas tried to scream, he no longer had a mouth with which

to make the sound. 

 

TO BE CONTINUED ...