Chapter Four – Facing the Past

"I said, where are you going?" Barnabas looked at her, seemingly pleasantly, unless you looked in his eyes – they penetrated her soul, filling his face with evil malice.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Maggie exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear, "I know the truth, and you can't stop me from going to the sheriff!"

"Can't I?" Barnabas said quietly, in a deep, dangerous tone.

"Barnabas – just let her go," Julia said from the Drawing Room.

"Let her go?" Barnabas repeated, never taking his eyes off her face, mesmerized by each flicker of fear. "I think not."

"And she said you had changed!" Maggie hissed angrily. "She lied to me, like you both have lied since the very beginning!"

"But I have changed, Maggie," he said, his mouth slowly turning into an evil smile, "Can't you see it?" She shook her head vehemently. "What time is it, Maggie?"

She glanced at the clock above the mantle. "A little after two."

"Is it dark outside?" he patiently asked.

"No," she said slowly.

"There," he said victoriously, raising his chin a little. "You see, Maggie? You have nothing to fear from me. I have changed."

Maggie's brow creased in thought. "How?"

Barnabas' eyes increased their intensity. "Never mind."

"People can't just change like that!" Maggie exclaimed. "You have to tell me!"

"Why?" Barnabas said in an amused tone. "You'll go to the sheriff, he'll investigate, find nothing conclusive, and then go home. You'll be written in the report as suffering from a mental illness of some kind, you'll lose your job, and be stricken from any memory of anyone involved." Maggie lowered her gaze. "Now, that does paint a desolate picture, doesn't it?" Maggie nodded. "I suggest you return to Bangor, and keep your mind on the tasks at hand – not the past. Am I quite clear?"

Maggie's eyes darted upward to his face, all the fire of yesteryear still engraved in her otherwise-innocent eyes. "Yes. You are very clear, Barnabas." Maggie casted a last glare at Julia before departing from the house.

After being yelled at by Doctor Urran for returning two and a half hours late to work, she was given a tray for Joe. In tears from her traumatic experiences both at the Old House and in her workplace, she opened the iron door again. Joe was waiting expectedly for her, anxiously as well as excitedly. "Hello, Maggie," he said.

"Hello, Joe. Here's your tray." She handed him the tray, the turned away so that Joe couldn't see her cry.

However, Joe had heard a familiar catch in Maggie's voice, always a sign of distress. He set his tray down on the bed, and slowly approached her. "Maggie, what's wrong?"

Maggie sighed and wiped away her tears, even though more were on the verge of cascading down her face. "Oh, nothing you can do anything about." She turned around and gave him a watery smile. "How was your day? Did the replacement treat you well?"

"Not since I've gotten used to you," Joe said sincerely, gazing into the fawn-like eyes he had loved so much . . . the eyes he still loved.

Maggie noticed that the mood in the room had changed. Joe started staring at her more intently than usual. Maggie had begun to get nervous – frightened; not because of Joe's re-found love for her, but by the possibility that she, too, could start to look at him differently. Nervously, she said, "Maybe you'd better start on your dinner."

"Okay, Maggie," Joe said, never taking his eyes away.

He didn't make a single move toward his tray. Maggie's nervousness increased, and she said, in almost a panicked voice, "Joe, please."

"What, Maggie?" Joe asked, still gazing at her affectionately.

"Joe, I've had a hard day, so please stop staring at me!" Maggie vented. The shocked and hurt look on Joe's face brought her back to her senses. "I'm sorry, Joe." His expression didn't change. "Look – why don't you sit down there and eat, while I talk to you. Okay?"

"All right," he said in a hurt voice. Reluctantly, he returned to his tray and started to eat. "Did you visit Julia? Is that what took so long?" he asked.

"Yes," Maggie replied through terse lips.

Joe waited for a further answer, but did not get one. "Did you find out what you needed to know?" he finally asked.

"Yes."

Again, no details. Joe, now slightly irritated, asked, "Who was it?"

Maggie debated whether to tell him. "It was Barnabas."

"Barnabas." Joe said angrily. He slammed his tray down on his bed. "He always ruins everything!"

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Maggie said flatly.

Joe whipped around and stared incredulously at her. "You mean you didn't tell the police?"

"I couldn't," Maggie said, her throat beginning to tighten.

"Why not?"

"I just couldn't!" Maggie yelled, tears starting to fall again.

"Oh, Maggie – I'm sorry," Joe said comfortingly as he put an arm around her shoulder. She resituated herself so that she could cry onto his shoulder as he held her. "I'm so sorry." Her crying started to relinquish, and she brought herself up a little bit so that she could look at Joe. Their eyes met for a moment so intense, that Maggie felt her very bones quaking. "Maggie," Joe started.

"It's okay," Maggie whispered. After one last intense look of love, Joe leant over and kissed Maggie – the one woman he loved, and the one woman who he had not – could not – live without.