Weeks passed without any word of Willie. After the first weekend came and went without any sight of the wayward
groundskeeper, Barnabas awkwardly approached Roger Collins with what he knew about Willie and the supposed map
in his possession.

Roger initially scoffed at the idea, attributing Willie's absence to yet another bender the boy'd frequently indulge in.

Yet as the first weekend faded into another and then another, and still no word, Barnabas noticed Roger looking
uncomfortable and speculative whenever anyone mentioned Willie. The male head of Collinwood would absentmindedly
grind his teeth, tapping his fingers anxiously, and Barnabas could tell he was thinking about what Barnabas had told
him, and that his suspicions were growing.

But what Collinsport lacked in news from Willie's whereabouts, it gained in strange, inexplicable reports elsewhere.
The first incident occurred about two days after Willie's disappearance. Three calves that had gone missing from their
cattle were later found just outside the farmer's property, dead and strangely withered, almost skeletal.

The autopsy ruled the cause of death a dramatic loss of blood—practically 75% had been somehow drained away from
each fragile calf. Yet the only marks of violence discovered were two small puncture wounds on the throats.

This discovery caused a mild murmur compared to what came later.
Soon the strange attacker—a new breed of "wild animal," the flustered police called it—graduated to larger stock: grown
cows, horses, and eventually a young woman and a teenage boy.
Shivering in their hospital rooms, clutching at their throats, the victims remembered and repeated only two words:

"Those eyes! Those eyes!"


"…So, you see, David, there is no substantial proof the dubious lady ever actually said, 'Let them'—David? Anyone home
in that wild unfettered mind?" Barnabas asked, looking at his student over the former professor's weathered book on
18th Century France.

The two lounged on the grass in front of the small strip of beach near the bottom of Widow's Hill, enjoying the pleasantly
surprising balmy weather.

For all that the younger Collins had initially been enjoying the exploits of the growing revolt before the French Revolution,
his stony eyes were now locked on the stick he repeatedly stabbed and dug into the dirt before his supine form.

He jolted when Barnabas snapped shut the book. The tutor put aside Marie Antoinette's waning popularity and leaned
back, hands folded beneath his head. As he stared contently into the clouds above him, he asked in a careless voice,

"Anything you'd like to talk about, old man?"

He had reached a happy if not tenuous détente with the sullen youth in the older Collins's month of employment at
Collinwood. It had been sorely difficult to attain, and required the assistance of David's aunt.

"Just remember what I told you, Barnabas," she soothed him after Barnabas came to her desperate, having found yet
another tarantula hidden in his sock drawer, and after having been told for what seemed the hundredth time by David
that the boy hated him. "Don't treat him any differently than you would your college students. Be stern, but be off-hand
about it. Speak to him as an adult, don't sugar-coat anything."

The next morning, Barnabas arrived in the schoolroom fifteen minutes late, finding the boy sitting still as a corpse,
staring with boiling rage at his pale hands.

Barnabas didn't spare him a glance, but pulled down the map from the top of the chalkboard. His voice was casual and
disinterested.

"'Morning, David. We will be studying the history of Chile for our geography lesson today. Chile, by the way, is a popular
breeding ground for tarantulas. If I find any more of those unpleasant little bastards in my room, I will hunt them down,
put them in a box—sans air-holes, mind you—and send them back to that sunny place from whence they came, with
instructions to drown any chance survivors. Now, the Aymara are an indigenous people of Chile, their language spoken
by some two million people in"—

As he continued his lesson, he snuck a glance at the boy. While David still stared doggedly at his hands, Barnabas felt
quietly triumphant as he noticed a small grin on his face.

That grin had reluctant respect in it.
Barnabas quickly learned that the only way to reach the troubled boy was to be, as Elizabeth called it, "off-hand" in one's
manner. And so on this sunny day, as he breathed in the salty fresh air as thick clouds rolled by, he affected cool
disinterest as he inquired after the boy's fragile emotional state.

"I'm worried about Willie," David conceded at last, never looking up from the stick still being plunged deeper and deeper
into the earth.

Barnabas wrinkled his brow. "Willie? I didn't think you cared a thing about Willie."

"I don't. But I don't want him to suffer, either."

Barnabas rolled over on his side, cupping his head in his hand as he studied the boy. Still keeping his voice even, he
asked, "Why do you think Willie might be suffering, David? Your aunt and everyone else assume he just skipped town."

"Not everyone. My father doesn't."

"What do you mean?"

"He knows Willie went looking for the secret room." He locked knowing eyes with Barnabas.
Barnabas dropped his hand, sitting up. "Who told you about that, David?"

"Stefan."

The corner of Barnabas's mouth turned down as he rolled his eyes, lying back into his cupped hands. "Stefan, Stefan. Of
course it was Stefan. There's no chance you remembered my conversation with Willie when you hid behind my curtains
the night I arrived here. And there's certainly no chance you eavesdropped when I told your father that's what Willie was planning."

"I didn't eavesdrop!" David insisted, face red. "Stefan told me all about it! And he told me Willie's in a lot of pain! He needs
help! He needs"—

"David," came a sharp voice from up the hill. Roger descended with Carolyn on his arm. In her mint-green summer
dress, Carolyn was attired more leisurely than her uncle on this sunny Friday afternoon, as Roger had just arrived from a
business meeting in town. "David, settle down. Don't bother your cousin with your nonsense talk about ghost children
and secret rooms. There isn't a secret room and our dear Mr. Loomis was certainly never there."

"But, Dad"—

"Quiet," he said more sharply than Barnabas liked. Roger turned a more gracious countenance to his cousin. "May I have
a word, Barnabas? It'll only be a moment."

"Of course."

Roger turned to Carolyn, patting her on the cheek. "Entertain the boy, won't you, kitten?"

Carolyn laughed. "I'll try."

Barnabas and Roger walked a ways up the grassy path toward Widow's Hill. "After our little chat, Barnabas, I took the
liberty of investigating the Collins tomb myself. I hate to admit it, but after weeks without word from the lout, I thought…
well, I thought the timing was a bit too coincidental. But no fear," he said decidedly. "I found no evidence of tampering,
and no evidence of a secret door to any secret room. Just thought you might like to know."

Barnabas let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "My, I'm embarrassed to admit how relieved I am! It
sounds preposterous, I know, but…."

"But the strange confluence of events—his finding the map, then disappearing—was far too odd to mean nothing? Don't
worry, I felt the same way." He laughed to himself. "I can't believe I was almost fooled by that idiot. Well," he shrugged.

"Looks like he's just AWOL. And I say Good Riddance. Man's been nothing but trouble since coming here. Let's hope
he's left town for good this time."

"Indeed," Barnabas agreed. "But might I ask…forgive me if this is impertinent…might I ask why he was hired to begin
with?"

"One of the mysteries of life, I am afraid," Roger sighed. "Or shall I say one of the many illustrious mysteries of my
flabbergasting sister. Young Loomis was the lackey of a real snake named Jason McGuire, a smirking cheat who's
rolled into town periodically since my brother-in-law's death about sixteen years ago. He saunters in, takes a check from
a reluctant Liz, and scurries off to God knows where. I don't know why he comes or why we're beholden to financially
support him, but Liz won't discuss it and gently lets me know it's none of my damn business.

"The last time we saw him was three years ago when he deposited Willie at our doorstep. Said the boy needed a job,
and as we had a shortage of servants, wouldn't it be grandly Christian of us if we were to take him in?" Roger smiled
unpleasantly. "Drunken brawls, harassing women, neglecting his duties—the kid's an absolute mess. The family's
barely had a quiet moment since his arrival. Unless, of course, this absence is permanent. Let us hope and pray. Now,
I'll return you to your pupil."

The sounds of David and Carolyn in the middle of a heated argument greeted the two men as they approached.

"Oh, David"—

"It's true! It's true! Stefan exists!"

"David, you're scaring all of us! We're concerned about you! It's okay to have an imaginary friend, but"—

"He's not imaginary!" The boy emphasized his words by pounding his fist into the ground.

"What's going on, you two?" Roger asked wearily.

Carolyn looked up, abashed. "Oh, Uncle Roger, I didn't mean to upset him. But he was prattling on and on again about
Stefan telling him Willie's in danger, and it's all just so silly that I"—

"It's not silly," David practically growled. In a lower voice he asked, "He was right about my mother, wasn't he?"

"David!" Carolyn cried aghast. She turned large apologetic eyes to her uncle.

He had gone white in the face and taken a step back.

"Roger….?" Barnabas asked quietly, reaching a hand out to steady him.
Roger blinked a few times and cleared his throat. "Oh, er…it's nothing, Barnabas, nothing really. I…I'm going back in
now." Drawing his face into tightly inscrutable lines, Roger marched purposefully but too quickly up the hill and
disappeared around the rocky corner.

Carolyn watched him retreat. Then she turned incensed to her young cousin. "You're a very selfish little boy," she said in
a quavering voice. She ran off into the opposite direction of her uncle, heading into the forest to take the longer path back
to Collinwood.

Barnabas stood silent for a moment, following with his eyes the separate paths the two had taken. His eyes settled on
his young charge. David had his back to him. His arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, his head upon his knees
as he stared into the horizon.

Barnabas eased himself down beside him.

A few moments passed. "I lost my mother, too, a long time ago," Barnabas said in a muted voice.

A pause followed this statement for so long that Barnabas thought he wasn't going to receive a reply. "Oh, yeah? How?"

David asked at last, murmuring into his knees.

"Their boat sank near the Port of London. I lost her and my father."

"How old were you?" David asked.

"About four years old."

"Do you remember them at all?"

"A little. Bits and pieces." Like David, he lost himself staring into the glowing horizon. "I remember how kind her face was.
How hearty his laugh."

A slight breeze brushed against them.

Then David spoke. "My mother was a monster."

Shocked out of his role as the distant, unconcerned professor, Barnabas said aghast, "David! That's a terrible thing to
say!"

"It's the truth," he said, never once taking his eyes away from that distant point beyond the sea.

"Why on earth do you say that, David?"

"You didn't see her. You didn't know. No one knew, except Stefan."

Barnabas shook his head in disbelief. "What happened, David?"

David sighed, and as he spoke he sounded more like a disillusioned man near Barnabas's age than a small boy. "I
noticed my mom start acting goofy and all weird and protective when I was about seven. She'd fight with my dad and go
away for a while, only to come back. She'd stand over my bed at night, chanting in some language I didn't understand. It
started really freaking me out.

"One day sometime before my ninth birthday I was playing in the Old House, trying to get away from her. I found an old
ball in the basement, and started hearing this music."

"Music? What sort of music?"

"Like a flute, playing 'Frere Jacques'. You know it?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with that song."
"I followed the music into one of the rooms in the basement and found a boy about a year older than me staring back at
me, the flute in his hand. He asked for the ball back. Only he was dressed real funny, with these pants that ended at his
knees and a vest over a white sort of buttoned-down shirt. He had kind of long, light brown hair that was pulled back in a
ponytail."

"And this was…."

"Yeah, this was Stefan. I asked him who he was and he told me he came here to play with me, to be my friend, and to
warn me."

"About your mother?"

"About my mother. He said…he said…." David shivered, his chin sinking lower into his knees. "He said she wasn't
human. That she was an im…immortal who needed me to go into some sort of ritual fire with her, and that she'd…she'd
um…ab…absorb my spirit into her own, so that we'd be one. I guess she'd been doing that sort of thing for a long, long
time with a bunch of other kids of hers over the years."

Barnabas had nothing to say.

"I thought he was crazy at first, too. But he kept showing up at weird times, like he could move through walls or
something. He left me a book with a page in English of the stuff she's been saying over my bed. The chants were
supposed to get me ready to go in the fire with her. I believed him then." He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily.
Barnabas was unsure whether he should press him to continue when David spoke again. "So I accused her. In front of
my dad, in front of Aunt Elizabeth, in front of Carolyn. They told me I was wrong, but her face told me I was telling the truth.
She looked…she looked like she hated me. One night…." He swallowed. "One night she burst into my room and
dragged me to the Old House. She tied me up in a chair and started chanting. Suddenly there was this ring of fire around
her. I cried and cried, and finally, Stefan showed up beside me. He whispered some of that weird language in my ear,
and just as the fire was about to touch me, I repeated what he said. All at once I wasn't tied up anymore, and I ran to the
door and looked back at her. Her face went all green, and then she screamed. The fire suddenly spread inside her ring and she…I ran out the door…I didn't want to see…and she disappeared in the fire."

A seagull cawed in the distance.

"I snuck back into my room and hid under my sheets. The fire department came and was able to save the house.
Everybody…everybody thinks I drove her mad by accusing her of trying to hurt me, and that she set herself on fire
because I'd made her crazy. They don't say it to me, but I've heard. I've heard Mrs. Johnson talking to neighbors on the
telephone. But I know the truth about her. And Stefan knows." He sighed. "Stefan saved my life. He's the only real friend I
have."

The rocking waves crashing gently against the shore was the only sound for several minutes after, the sky changing to a
deep shade of orange as the afternoon changed to evening.

Barnabas felt shamed and inadequate. This boy needed far more than a befuddled exile such as he to be his confidant,
a man well into his thirties with an utter lack of experience with children. When Elizabeth told him that David was
troubled, Barnabas hadn't the slightest idea just how deeply the boy's problems ran.

Obviously the gruesome nature of his mother's death traumatized the boy so deeply as to make him retreat from his
heartbreak into hatred and fear of the departed woman, concocting a wild, morbid tale. The Stefan figure must represent
the warm and nurturing emotions a mother was supposed to inspire in her child.

At least, so far as Barnabas could glean. But he was no child psychologist.

Which, frankly, was what the child needed just as much as proper schooling.

Barnabas's gaze wandered to the top of Widow's hill, to its intimidating jagged edge of rock at the tip, where his
namesake met his death. Then Barnabas looked back at the still, brooding David.

And his sense of shame intensified.

He had been building a dreamworld for years surrounding Collinwood, a dreamworld of gothic proportions, of howling
wind signifying portentous horrors, of discovering dark and deeply twisted secrets behind the stoic faces resting in their
portraits.

And here, the darkest and most twisted story dwelled in the tortured mind of a little boy, in need of professional help.
Barnabas vowed to no longer romanticize the distant tragedies of his family history, when a real tragedy was so close at
hand, and very far from being romantic.

Glancing at the reddening sky, he stood again. "Come, David," he said sadly. "It's getting late. Let's go inside."
He had no idea how the woman just making herself known in the drawing room of Collinwood would shake his
newfound resolve.


Carolyn tiptoed carefully through the brush in the forest's winding path, wishing she'd worn any other shoes than her new
white pumps.

She was furious with David, furious and worried. Everyone knew that perhaps the only person Roger Collins ever truly
loved was Laura, his lost wife. Why, why couldn't David understand that? To accuse her of being a monster…well,
Carolyn had never truly warmed up to her, finding her rather haughty and witchy, but she couldn't deny Laura had held
Roger in some sort of spell. Hell, even with their marital problems that came later, Uncle Roger was always devoted to
her. Why couldn't David leave well enough alone and not bring up the past and that terrible, terrible lie he had told?

The unusually sunny day had shifted quickly to a typical chilly Collinsport autumn evening. With the darkening midnightblue
sky came the expected biting breeze. Carolyn rubbed her arms, wishing she hadn't thoughtlessly left Collinwood
without a sweater. She had been so eager to get to town, Fridays being her shopping days. However, when she'd arrived
at her favorite department store, the window was broken and barred off by police tape. The place was in a bustle of
officers and frightened workers. When Carolyn asked one of the harried shopgirls what was going on, she was told
tersely that this shop and a few other women's department stores had been the victims of mysterious break-ins during
the past couple of weeks. No evidence remained to identify the criminal, yet somehow whoever it was had made off with
enough outfits to make up an entire wardrobe.

Carolyn simply took this as further proof the town was getting crazier and crazier, and only felt mildly disappointed at
being thwarted in her efforts to add to her own ever-expanding wardrobe.

She shivered again as another gust of wind stirred the trees around her. She started taking note of the darkening forest
and how very alone she was at the moment.

Her eyes darted around, trying to stamp down on a rising sense of panic. So dark all of a sudden…the untrimmed trees
were shapeless giants in the dying day, the branches sinewy arms reaching out for her.

Don't think about the attacks…don't think about the attacks.

She put her head down and quickened her pace.

But halted at a sound not too far off: animals howling from the hills just beyond the forest.

Her heart practically stopped in her chest.

Are…are those dogs?

Or are they….

Some kind of "new breed of wild animal"?

Carolyn gave up any pretense of bravery and ran. The wind picked up and the branches swayed like beckoning bones,
and the baying grew sharper and more frenzied, the number of animals in the eerie chorus multiplying.

All at once Carolyn stopped, eyes wide and body trembling as the large bushes in front of her began moving and rustling
far more actively than the breeze should have allowed. Something was in there. Something was in there. Something was
in there something was in there.

And it was coming out.

A tall figure stumbled out into her path, reaching for her.

She shrieked.

A plaintive voice tried soothing her. "Please, Miss Carolyn…please…I ain't…I ain't gonna hurt you…."

Carolyn put down her hands that had been covering her face, her eyes even wider than before. "Willie?"

The pale, gaunt figure moved into the light. Willie Loomis looked drained and spent, eyes brimming with numb, resigned
terror.

His lips trembled as he raised his hand again. His trembling was far worse than the frightened Carolyn's. "You know I
wouldn't hurt you, don't you?" He asked in a small voice, so meek Carolyn couldn't believe this was Willie Loomis in front
of her.

He had been snide and dismissive of her when he first arrived in Collinwood, when she was a fifteen-year-old high
school freshman. Their meetings were limited to him calling her a spoiled brat under his breath and rolling his eyes
whenever she spoke, and she returned his kindness with cutting remarks about his drinking and shabby work around
the grounds.

Then around Junior year of high school, she noticed him taking in her maturing form with roving eyes and sleazy grins.

These days when she met his eyes, he'd no longer roll them but instead raise his eyebrows suggestively.

Once he even winked and touched the tip of his upper-lip with his tongue.

So how could this sad, faded shambles of a man be that same creep?

She finally found her voice, but withdrew slightly as she spoke. "Where have you been, Willie? You've been gone for a
month!"

His haunted eyes wandered from her face as he awkwardly stuck his hands in his jean pockets. "Oh, y'know…I've been
around." He screwed up his mouth, and for the world it looked to Carolyn like he was trying not to cry.

"But…doing what?"

"I…I don't know," he shrugged, looking at the ground. "Just…odd jobs here and there."

Carolyn remembered the robberies. "Willie, you're not in any sort of trouble, are you?" She asked in a low voice.
His head jerked up and he stared at her wildly. "What do you mean, trouble?"

"There've…there've been some…some robberies around town."

He grimaced then shook his head determinedly, averting his eyes. "No. No. That wasn't me," he said too quickly to be
convincing.

Carolyn was about to heatedly accuse him otherwise when she noticed how his arms trembled, how slumped his
posture was, how very pale and sickly his face was. Always a slender man, he now looked positively bony.

For all the stuck-up fronts she put on, Carolyn had a kind heart. "Are you sick, Willie?"

Willie laughed here, and by far it was the most pitiable thing he'd done yet. "Sure. Sure, I'm sick." Then he put his face in
his hands and broke into tears.

Forgetting every fear she had of the man, Carolyn rushed forward and put her arm around his shoulders. "Willie! Willie,
what is it?"

"It's nothin', it's nothin', Carolyn," he shuddered into his hands.

"Oh, really? So you're crying over nothing, then? Look, you're not well. Let me help you get back to Collinwood"—

"No, no, I just need"—

"Don't argue with me, Willie Loomis! I'm not leaving this place or letting you leave unless you come with me right now."


"Mother!" Carolyn cried as she entered Collinwood, supporting the increasingly exhausted and protesting Willie on her
arm.

"Look, Carolyn, I don't need help. I need to…I need to get outta here…."

"Hush, Willie. You don't know what's good for you. Mother!"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming, dear, I'm coming," Liz said wearily as she exited the drawing room from where she'd been going
over the cannery's accounts. She quickly changed moods at the sight in front of her.

"Good Lord! What is this?"

"I found him in the woods, Mother. I think he's sick."
Elizabeth was at a loss. She absolutely detested the man, and hated the sight of him touching her daughter no matter
the circumstance, yet Carolyn certainly appeared correct: he looked terrible.

"Please…." he groaned. "Please, just let me go. It's getting dark. I need…I need to get to the Old House."

Elizabeth frowned. "Why do you need to get to the Old House, Willie?"

He shivered. "I…I…." His head lolled down to his chest.

"Carolyn, help me get him to the drawing room," Elizabeth said swiftly, taking his other arm.

Once they settled him in, lying him down on the sofa, Elizabeth instructed Carolyn to get more brandy from the kitchen.

Then Elizabeth pulled up a chair to the sofa and started questioning him.

Though her words were harsh, her tone was surprisingly subdued, taking into account his condition. "What on earth do
you think you're doing back here after being gone so long, and upsetting my daughter into the bargain?"

Willie shook his head weakly on the sofa cushion, eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't mean to upset her none. I won't trouble
you no more. I…I'm leavin'."

"Leaving?" She asked taken aback. "Then why did you even come back?"

"I wasn't…I wasn't comin' back here. I was headin' to the Old House."

Elizabeth straightened, immediately on the alert. "So you said. Why were you going there, Willie?"

He swallowed. "To…to check it out."

"And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?"

"I'm afraid because I asked him to, Mrs. Stoddard."

Elizabeth turned around to the stranger standing in the foyer. Blanching, Elizabeth practically overturned her chair as she
stood up, not believing her eyes.

The very image of Josette DuPres stood in front of her.

"What…how…?" Elizabeth managed to get out.

It was the same woman, she reasoned, but dressed differently. She was attired modestly, wearing a plain but
fashionably cut white dress and neat black shoes over her brown stockings. Her thick, silky ringlets were pulled back by
a velvet ribbon. A light, lilac sweater was folded neatly over her arm. The only decorative item she wore was the rather
ostentatiously-sized ruby ring on her finger. She couldn't have been much older than Carolyn.

She was so strangely innocent-looking. She was unbelievably beautiful.

With large gentle eyes, the girl tentatively stepped forward.

In the sweetest, most tender voice Elizabeth had ever heard, the girl spoke. "Do forgive me for entering without asking
your permission, Mrs. Stoddard, but the door was open and I forgot myself when I saw poor Willie in this wretched
condition."

Her remarkably pale face filled with touching concern, she flew to Willie's side and knelt down, gently feeling his

forehead.
"Oh, poor Willie! I told you, dear man, I told you not to exert yourself when you still haven't fully recovered from your
accident."

"Accident?" Elizabeth's confusion and shock kept her from noticing Willie flinch and whimper at the girl's touch. His eyes
were pictures of absolute panic as they darted back-and-forth between the two women. "What accident? Just who are
you, Miss? You look…you look exactly like…."

"Like Josette DuPres?" The young woman smiled slightly. "So Willie tells me. No surprise, actually. I am Josette
DuPres."

Elizabeth backed away a few steps, shaking her head.

Josette rushed to reassure her. "Oh, please, forgive my clumsy joke. I am one of the descendants of the original
Josette's cousins. I was named after her."

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. "Goodness, you gave me quite a fright."

Josette smiled beguilingly at her, and Elizabeth thought to herself that she had never seen such a gorgeous creature,
never seen such a radiant smile. "I do apologize for not introducing myself earlier, and now doing so under such
awkward conditions. But you see, I…." she blushed charmingly. "I suppose I'm rather awkward in general. I've not been
much around society."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm from Martinique. My parents thought they had been cheated out of an inheritance, and thinking they were poor, they
left me at a convent not far from the coast when I was still a child, leaving me as a reminder of my heritage the papers
that had belonged to the original Andre and Josette, and this ring. I positively grew up on these items, cherishing them.
Really, they are all I've known of the outside world for the past fourteen years. When it came time for me to take my vows,
I decided I couldn't. Not until I visited Collinsport. Not until I visited…" she looked meaningfully at Elizabeth through long
thick lashes, "…the Old House."

Realization dawned on Elizabeth. "Your ancestral home," she murmured.

Josette inclined her head. "Exactly. When I wasn't devouring the diaries of Andre and Josette, the business papers
detailing the deed to the Old House, or telling my beads, I studied books on house renovation and interior design." Shy
again, she spoke in subtly embarrassed, dulcet tones, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I've been nursing a
certain dream for a while now. My parents are long dead, and with no other acquaintance in the world, I've been
dreaming of restoring the Old House. And…and…." She looked up apologetically, appealingly. "And perhaps living
there?" She said questioningly, watching Elizabeth's face carefully.

Her doe eyes were so sincere and hypnotic that Elizabeth came close to giving her permission on the spot. Pulling
herself together, she said instead, "Won't you please sit down?"

"Thank you."

Seated, Elizabeth studied her silently for a few moments. The girl looked serene and angelic, her expression kind and
vibrant. Her hands were folded quietly in her lap, her posture straight. Her large eyes stared directly but sweetly into
Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth shook her head, feeling like she had fallen into some sort of trance staring at the young beauty. "How old are
you, Josette?"

"Just twenty."

"And how did you meet Willie?"

She cast her eyes down, looking guilty. Willie shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as she spoke. "Poor Willie. It's all my
fault he's in this wretched condition."

"How do you mean? You referred to some sort of accident."

"It was stupid of me, rash and stupid. Before I left the convent, I decided I needed to learn how to…how to…drive," she
said the word cautiously in her slight French accent, and Elizabeth was amused by how foreign the word must be to this
naïve convent-bred girl. "Well, I wasn't very good at it, but somehow I got my…my license anyways. I rented a car once I
arrived in New York, and one of the first things I did on entering Collinsport was hit poor Willie about a month ago as he
was crossing an empty road in the middle of the night!"

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Indeed!"

Josette laughed self-deprecatingly. "Oh, I was mortified. Hysterical. They teach you a little nursing in the convent, so I
was able to ascertain he had a mild concussion. He came to all right and insisted I not take him to a hospital, and that
his employers would be furious with him for being out so late at night. He had…he had been drinking," she whispered
tactfully.

Elizabeth solemnly nodded her head.

"Well…I felt so responsible for him, you see. I…I volunteered to take him to the house I was going to rent and let him
sleep in one of the rooms."

Elizabeth interrupted. "You let a strange man you'd never met sleep in the same house as you?"

Josette looked up alarmed. "Wasn't it the right Christian thing to do?" she asked.

Elizabeth suddenly felt so maternally toward the innocent creature that her chest tightened.

Josette continued. "Well, after a few days he seemed to be feeling better and volunteered to help me out a little. Oh, you
know, with various tasks around the house. When I discovered he'd been working here, I eagerly inquired all about you
and your family. He told me that no one was living in the Old House, and hadn't really since Josette and Andre left almost
two hundred years ago.

"Just today he seemed to be feeling even better, and volunteered to look over the Old House while I pleaded my case
with you. What a terrible nurse I am," she said, looking in Willie's direction. "I judged wrongly. It was too much exertion for
him. I feel absolutely terrible about it."

Willie swallowed, his face paralyzed in fear.

Again, Elizabeth failed to notice his discomfort. "Well, it sounds like you've had quite a welcome to Collinsport, Ms.
DuPres."

"Oh, please," she replied, standing up and putting forward a small, graceful hand. "Call me Josette, Mrs. Stoddard."
Elizabeth smiled, touched by the simple charm of Josette's good manners. She took her hand. "Only if you call me
Elizabeth in return."

"Certainly, Elizabeth. And if I may…." She blushed again. "I don't mean to be forward, but Willie led me to believe you
weren't quite satisfied with his performance as your servant?"

Elizabeth glared at him while she answered. "That would be an understatement."

"Oh, then, please," Josette said eagerly, resting a light hand on Elizabeth's arm. "Let him work for me. My parents died
leaving behind an inheritance far vaster than they realized they possessed. It's all gone to me. If you allow me, Willie and
I will restore the Old House to its former glory, and all I ask in return is that I can stay there." Her eyes gleamed
reverentially. "There I will really feel home."

Elizabeth was amazed. "You really want Willie to work for you? But…but look, he's given us so much trouble. Are you
sure, a woman alone"—

"Don't you think, Mrs. Stoddard, that everyone deserves a second chance?" Josette asked softly.

Elizabeth paused. She considered those words. Eventually she smiled, relenting. "All right, Josette. You may hire Willie if
you must. I assume you have no problem with that arrangement, Willie?"

He willed himself to keep his eyes free of fear. He could feel those other eyes burning into the side of his face, warning him how to answer. "Uh…uh, yeah, yeah. That's, that's great."

"As for the Old House, Josette," Elizabeth went on, "It's really not in my hands but yours. Technically, the deed still holds
true, and I can think of no one in my household who'd protest the decision that it go to the only DuPres who claims it."

Josette clasped her hands together in a uniquely antiquated gesture that still managed to look delightfully artless. "Oh,
marvelous!" She exclaimed in that musical voice. "Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you so, so much."

Waiting a few beats, Willie cleared his throat and then sat up on the sofa. "If that's the case, guess I better head over
there and start puttin' some of your stuff in the place, huh?"

Josette sped to his side, her back to Elizabeth. As such, Elizabeth couldn't see that Josette's eyes were contradicting her
following words. "Oh no, Willie! I wouldn't hear of it! Not after you've relapsed this way! No, you're going right back to the
rental house and going to sleep."

Elizabeth was also unable to see Willie's face, so she couldn't see him following Josette's eyes closely, following some
hidden prompt he found in their depths. "No…no, I wasn't sick again. I hate to tell ya, but I was hittin' the bottle. I know, I
know I promised I wouldn't, Josette, but I was just so nervous comin' back here again after bein' away so long. I was just
a little hung-over. I'm okay now."

Josette shook her head, but the corners of her delicate mouth turned upward in an encouraging little smile. "I don't
believe you, Willie."

"Naw, it's true." He stared deeply, very deeply in Josette's eyes, and as if a power beyond his own was helping him, he
stood up swiftly and effortlessly. Elizabeth was astounded by the renewed color in his cheeks. "See?" He said, holding
his arms out. "Good as new." He laughed awkwardly.

Elizabeth blinked. "My, he certainly looks like a new man. He must have had a very brief hang-over."
Stifling the satisfaction in her face, Josette turned mildly fretting eyes instead to the female head of Collinwood's
household. "Still, do you think it's wise to let him work right now?"

"Hey, I can answer that," Willie said, painfully affecting carelessness. "I'm, I'm healthy as…" he swallowed again.

"Healthy as a horse! Ha, ha! Well," he took long strides toward the door. "I ain't givin' either of you a chance to say
otherwise. I'm headin' out there."

Carolyn entered the room with a bottle of brandy and a glass in her hands. "Willie," she called in alarm seeing him go.

"Willie, where are you going?" He slammed the door shut behind him.

Carolyn shook her head in disbelief. "Good grief, Mother, what on earth was"—

She stopped and her mouth hung open as she saw Josette. She looked questioningly to her mother.

Elizabeth laughed. "Don't worry, dear. It isn't a ghost." She gestured toward Josette. "This is Josette DuPres, a
descendent of one of the original DuPres cousins. She's going to renovate and live in the Old House."

"Oh, uh, how do you do?"

"Josette, this is my daughter, Carolyn."

A look of shy excitement in her lovely face, Josette stepped eagerly forward, shaking Carolyn's hand. Running dancing
eyes over Carolyn's face, Josette said in a quiet voice, "I've never had many friends, Carolyn. I hope we'll be close."
Carolyn looked at her neat but plain dress, her gorgeous hair simply arranged, her appealing face, and immediately felt
a strong serge of protective camaraderie towards her. "Well, sure! It'll be nice having another fresh face around here."

She shook her head, giggling. "Gee, but it sure is crazy how much you look like the original Josette's portrait! And I
thought Barnabas was going to be the only lookalike around here, seeing as you're always going on about how much he
looks like that portrait in the Old House, Mother."

"Barnabas? What Barnabas?" Neither mother nor daughter noticed the sudden tight and almost metallic-sounding note
in Josette's quietly urgent voice.

The front door slammed shut, capturing their attention. David ran into the room, straight to Carolyn. "Carolyn, I'm sorry I
made you angry earlier. Do you forgive me?"

"Oh, of course, I do, David!" She said, running her hand fondly through his hair. "Don't be such a goose!"

David's eyes suddenly snapped fire as he saw Josette. "I knew it! I knew it! You're the ghost! I knew she'd show up!" He
pointed accusingly at Josette. "See, I told you, Barnabas! Barnabas?"

Barnabas, hearing the commotion from where he was hanging up their coats, wearily entered the drawing room.
"All right, sirrah, what trouble are you stirring now"—

He looked as if he were to faint.

Josette was still as a porcelain sculpture, except that her eyes were alive with fire. She seemed not to breathe at all, but
her nostrils flared with suppressed emotion. She was a very different picture from the timid girl who had entered the
room.

The two stared at each other, one understanding more than the other the heat, the recognition between them that went
deep. Deep. As if they had met countless times before, and had been only waiting for their next inevitable encounter. And
nothing had changed in the meantime, but everything, everything was different.

Not quite understanding the silent stares the two were sharing, Elizabeth stepped forward. "Forgive my nephew David,
Josette. He has a rather active imagination." She gestured toward Barnabas. "This is his tutor, my cousin from England,
Barnabas Collins."

"Barnabas Collins," Josette whispered in a thin voice, the uneasy light in her eyes flickering and snapping.

Barnabas was still at a loss. "Cat got your tongue, teach?" Carolyn teased. "This is the original Josette's cousin. Her
name's also Josette DuPres. Looks just like her namesake. Sound like a familiar scenario?"

Still staring, Barnabas laughed lightly. "Yes! What an odd coincidence." Clearing his throat, he advanced with
outstretched hand. "It is very good to meet you, Ms. DuPres," he said in an unconsciously husky voice, unwillingly drawn
into those eyes that had haunted him unceasingly for a month. Possibly his whole life.

At the touch of his hand on hers, Josette's entire being suffused with warmth. Her smile was slow and languorous, and
nearly undid Barnabas. She stared calmly and ecstatically into his disbelieving eyes.

"Please," she whispered, carrying the scent of jasmine on her breath, "Call me Josette."


Willie marched woodenly up the basement steps at the Old House, willing himself not to think about what he'd left
behind down there.

After closing the door behind him, he turned around and gasped in dread.

Josette stood before him, quiet and remote.

Her gentle voice spoke without expression. "Are they there?"

He shivered, rubbing his forearm. He could only manage a nod, staring at her little feet.

He flinched again as she tenderly took his hand in hers, the ruby ring brushing against his fingers.

"You're so very good to me, Willie."

He only nodded again. Looking away, he could just make out the calm and pleasant smile on her lips.
But then he stared in hysterical pain at his hand.

"No! Josette, stop!"

"Why didn't you tell me, Willie?" Her quiet voice had a new steely bite in it. She increased the pressure on his hand.

His knees buckled as he grabbed at her wrist. "No! No! Please stop! Why didn't I tell you…tell you what? Oh, please,
Josette!"

He was on his knees now, sobbing. Her grip grew tighter and tighter.

"You didn't tell me about him." This steely voice was a different animal from the melodious one used in Collinwood, but it
still maintained its quiet tone.

"About who? Who?" He asked in agony, face red and teeth clenched.

"Barnabas."

Willie cried out. "You're breakin' my hand! Please stop, please!"

"You didn't tell me my love was alive."

"OH, GOD, PLEASE STOP!"

Taking some sort of warped pity at last, she threw him away from her.

He collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily as he used what little strength he had left to massage his injured hand.

She knelt down gracefully beside him, and whispered voluptuously into his ear, "Why didn't you tell me? Jealous?"

He trembled as her breath stirred the hair on his neck. He swallowed against his dry throat. "I forgot…I forgot he was here and that you was engaged to his ancestor. He…he arrived the night I…the night I…."

"The night I hit you with my car?" Her laughter was like tingling bells.

He felt nauseous. He nodded his head weakly.

Gently taking his injured hand in spite of his frightened whimper, Josette kissed it and laid it against her cool check.

"You're forgiven," she crooned.

With equal delicacy, she replaced his hand on the ground beside his weary head. After smoothing his hair as Carolyn
did David's, Josette stood.

"I can't stay angry with you, Willie. I can't stay angry with anyone right now. I have my Barnabas back." Her low voice
trembled with joy. "As if he were waiting for me…waiting to forgive me and bring me happiness at last…."

Her eyes wandered around the Old House's expansive sitting room, hearing in her memory past words of love
murmured there centuries ago.

Then her eyes found it.

On top of the mantelpiece, where it had always been.

His portrait.
She approached it as a Novice approaches a rendering of the Crucifixion. She stared at his noble brow, his haughty eyes
masking a rich, generous soul. In his hand was the wolf-headed cane, never out of his sight, until that dreadful, dreadful night when all hope died in Josette's life.

"Never again, my love," she said trancelike. "Never again will I see you ripped away from me. This time," her hand
reached out toward his proud gaze, "This time not even death shall part us."

A long silence followed only punctuated by Willie's shuddered breathing.

Then in a hard, unyielding tone, Josette asked, "All is prepared for the day?"

"Yes," Willie answered tonelessly, refusing to face her from where he still crouched on the floor by the staircase. The
entire house was coated in dust, obscuring the interior's magnificence and opulence. But Josette would see to it her
father's rightful house was once again the gleaming mansion worthy of the DuPres name.

"My sleeping arrangements…and my supper?"

Whimpering again, Willie said reluctantly, "Yes, yes. It's all down there."

"Thank you, Willie. Goodnight," she answered silkily. She moved slowly to the basement door, and disappeared behind
it.

Willie covered his ears so he didn't have to hear the animal's cries. Then he surrendered himself to his sobs.

His sole audience was the little figure outside the window looking in unnoticed. Staring sadly at the weeping man, the boy put his flute to his lips, and in notes so low no one could hear, played the last two bars of "Frere Jacques."


A/N: First of all, I'd like to thank TorontoBatFan for catching my dumbassery in the first chapter concerning the
impossibility of Barnabas taking a ship from London to Bangor. Good catch!

And thanks to everyone for their reviews so far! I wasn't expecting so many for one chapter, so I'm very flattered!
I've gotten a few questions about what version I'm going for here, and what actors I see in the parts. I started out
with the original principally in mind when it comes to plot and characterization, leaving the performers open to your
favorite interpretations. And while that last part holds true, I do also find myself heavily influenced by the plot from
the revival as well, which I frankly love just as much as the original.

But there should be plenty of original twists in here as well.
Again, with the actors I really am trying to leave it up to the reader. I'm probably influenced by certain performers
when I'm writing, but I don't want that to take away from any of the other versions. The only interpretation I'm seeing
clearly is John Karlen as Willie. Nancy Barrett might be a little more the Carolyn I have in mind than the others, but
hey, see who you want to see in the roles, I ain't here to judge! Frankly, while writing I'm seeing an amalgamation of
all my favorites in the characters. They're all there.

Thanks again, and I'll update as soon as I can! Let me know if you have any other questions