Jeremiah Collins stood in the clearing, facing the man he had once considered his brother. Barnabas Collins' face was set, but some of his anguish showed in his shadowed eyes as he laid out the conditions for the duel.

"Ten paces... then turn. Count three ... then fire. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Jeremiah said slowly, and then, feeling that somehow he might make Barnabas understand what he himself did not, he said, "You must believe that, in all these years, I never lied to you until this - and that lie made me a stranger ... even to myself."

Barnabas faced him levelly. "Then I will fight a stranger and not the man you were." He paused, then went on. "Now let's get it over with."

"I am ready."

He turned his back on his nephew, and for a moment they stood still.

"Now," Barnabas said.

Jeremiah took a step forward, then another. The early winter air was cold and crisp, and a slight breeze had arisen. The leaves on the trees had exploded in an autumn riot of color. The sunshine had never seemed so beautiful. How had this travesty happened, death amidst all that was good?

He had never given Josette any more thought or feeling than was proper toward the intended bride of his closest friend. How had that changed?

A twig cracked sharply beneath his feet as he took another step, and yet another, and he tried to recapture for just a moment the feeling that he had held for Josette for those brief few days, the obsession that had vanished like dew in the full heat of day, the love that had come like sudden flame, and disappeared as though it had never been. Would remembering that love help him understand?

Josette had come to him one night, shamelessly clad in only her nightclothes. She had pressed her body to him, and whispered terms of endearment, while he stood in horrified confusion, unable to accept what was happening, denying to himself the desire she aroused in him. He mentioned Barnabas, and was relieved when she seemed to realize her shame and hurriedly left his room.

He had not slept much that night, instead spending hours agonizing over his decision to tell Barnabas that Josette was neither pure nor innocent; that her virtue was all a vile pretense.

He had gone to Barnabas that next morning, but the words wouldn't form in the face of his nephew's utter devotion to the illusion he loved. He had left him, determining that his happiness would not be shattered. He had sought out Josette, who had tried to avoid him, but he forced the confrontation on her.

The shame in her face and eyes had been only too visible, but he had hardened his heart against what he considered a deception.

"I don't know why I did what I did," she had sworn. "I don't understand it! I love Barnabas!"

"Then you must be true to him," he had replied harshly.

"I am true to him! I always will be. What happened makes no sense to me!"

"You had better find out why you did it!" he had said, his voice deadly cold. "I will not let you hurt Barnabas."

She had looked up at him, an anguished intensity in her eyes. "I would kill myself first."

Another step. And then another. They had both suffered so much. Why? What had driven him to do what he had done the next night? Desperately he tried to fight the desire which possessed him, but weakness claimed him, and he met her in the garden. Their fervent embraces had not gone unnoticed, and Andre DuPres had come to speak to him the next day.

He tried to meet the other man's eyes as he swore never to be alone with Josette again. Andre had been suspicious, but did nothing further. Jeremiah made plans to leave Collinsport that very day.

He would have gone, too, despite the fact that his entire being had cried out to him to remain… and then Joshua disappeared, making it necessary for him to stay. He could not have left while there was a possibility that his brother was dead.

Then had come the night of Barnabas' wedding to Josette – the night that she met Jeremiah in the woods, and they had ridden away, wild and rejoicing in the moonlit night. She had torn the wedding veil from her head and thrown it behind them in the mud. They had been married as soon as he could find a minister to perform the ceremony.

He still could not understand why. The joy, the ecstasy they had shared had faded, formless and transparent, then died as though it had never been. The anguish nothing could banish.

It had ended at the Inn. She had left their marriage bed. When he awoke, he found her sitting by the fire, hopeless anguish on her exquisite face - her feelings mirrored in his heart.

The brands which formed on their hands while their love raged white-hot had faded completely, leaving no scar, leaving nothing at all. They faced each other, two strangers at opposite ends of a room.

They had promised to be kind to one another, made plans to move away from ColIinsport, possibly find some way to salvage the ruin of their lives.

But Josette had insisted they return, wanting to at least tell her father and her aunt goodbye. The memory of the look on Barnabas' face as he had learned the truth cut Jeremiah like a lethal knife thrust. His face had changed so rapidly, from relief in seeing Josette unharmed, to hurt confusion as he learned what they had done. And then the ice had come, encasing him like a sheath, as with a voice full of cold rage and terrible anguish he had challenged Jeremiah to a duel, an affair of honor.

Joshua Collins had forbidden it. Josette begged him to refuse the challenge. But he had accepted. He knew he had to; that this, poor atonement as it was, was all he could give Barnabas for the destruction of his life.

Seven steps. Eight. Was the answer witchcraft? Abigail, with her ridiculous suspicions and vicious tongue had always seemed a fool… but what if she was right? She was not the only one who suspected witchcraft had been worked on both Josette and himself. He had never believed in such superstitions, but he was beginning to wonder. Joshua's disappearance and return had been strange and unexplained. Not even Joshua knew what had happened to him. Could that have been the work of a witch? If Joshua had not disappeared, he would have left Collinsport, and none of this would have happened. But what could Miss Winters possibly gain from all of this? She seemed so innocent...

Nine steps. Images flashed through his mind, of himself and Barnabas as young boys, exploring their world together, growing up together, brothers in everything but actuality. The memories crowded in fast… the hard times during the War, the exciting, unsettled times that followed as a new nation was formed, and their hearts and minds formed as well with new thoughts and ideals, pride, patriotism, loyalty. They had worked together in the Collins shipyards, and had on one occasion sailed together to the West Indies. Three decades of learning and living.

Ten steps. Jeremiah turned and faced his best friend.

Barnabas raised his gun. "One..."

Jeremiah hesitantly lifted his gun.

"Two..."

Time seemed to stretch out to infinity. Even across the distance between them, he could clearly see Barnabas' eyes - now the eyes of a stranger.

He raised his pistol as Josette burst into the clearing, followed by her maidservant Angelique.

"No!" Josette screamed, but it was far too late. Twin shots rang out; Jeremiah's expending itself far above Barnabas' head.

Jeremiah fell, and the dark was almost immediate. But there was one final instant, just before his vision faded completely, before the dark claimed everything, when he saw two twin points of icy blue light across the clearing... lights that resolved themselves into Angelique's huge eyes.

The instant had been enough. He knew-