Chapter Eight

Victoria froze, staring straight into Barnabas' face. She willed herself not to tremble, not to show any signs of weakness. For all she knew, this could be some sort of blessing in disguise, and even if it wasn't, she still had a job to do, even though things weren't going according to plan at the very moment. The worst thing to do, she knew, would let Barnabas detect any signs of weakness from her.

"Miss Winters," Barnabas said politely, "where are you going at this hour? And without a jacket. You must be cold." He brought a hand to her shoulder and Victoria tensed before she could catch herself. She relaxed quickly and shrugged his hand away.

"I'm fine," she replied, shaking her head. "I was only heading out for some fresh air. That's all."

Victoria saw Barnabas' eyes flick to her purse, and she instinctively held it close to her. His eyes drifted back to meet her gaze.

"I don't suppose you'd like my company," he said with a light chuckle.

Victoria pondered the idea for an instant, and decided to take the gamble. She smiled thinly and replied, "I'd like that, actually. The house has been empty all day."

Barnabas smiled back at her, and a feeling akin to relief filled her. It seemed as though he suspected nothing, thank goodness. He offered his arm to her and Victoria took it gingerly, still pressing her purse tightly to her side. They walked around the house and came to the terrace at the back. Victoria let herself steal a quick peek at the house itself; the lights were still on upstairs, she noticed. If she screamed, hopefully, there would be someone there to hear her. At the thought of screaming, Victoria felt the fear prickle inside of her again, but she took a deep breath to shake it out. This isn't a time to let him get the better of you, she thought.

Barnabas took a seat on one of the benches, and Victoria did the same. She tried to make sure to stay a decent distance away from him, but the bench was small. There wasn't very much space to begin with.

"You seem distant, if I may say so," Barnabas said after a moment.

"Do I?" Victoria asked. She looked up at him. "I don't mean to be. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't a reprimand," Barnabas replied. He smiled warmly at her, but it set her on edge. She looked away. He asked, "Is something wrong?"

Victoria got up off of the bench and walked toward the other side of the terrace. Her fingers traced the zipper of her purse, and she thought about how easily she could open it. How simple it would be to pull out the stake and send it speeding toward Barnabas.

How easily he could move out of its way. How easily he could come behind her and bite her in the throat, if he really was what she suspected.

Victoria couldn't suppress that chill.

She took another moment to gather her thoughts, and she made sure that she was saying the right thing when she said, "Have you ever had a friend that turned out to be something else entirely from what you expected?"

There was a long silence. The breeze blew loudly through the trees, and Victoria wrapped her arms around herself. She wished that she actually had brought her coat, especially now that she had no idea how long she would be out here.

"I think everyone has experienced something like that," Barnabas finally replied.

"Of course," Victoria said. She still didn't turn around to face him. "I only wanted to make sure you could relate."

"If I may ask," Barnabas began, "how long have you known this friend? Do I know them?"

Victoria stiffened. "Not long at all," she said, answering the first part. "And... quite possibly."

"I won't ask who it is." Victoria could hear the slight smile in his voice, as though he were trying to take away any worry that she might have with confiding in him. It didn't work.

"Thank you for that, at least," Victoria said. She laughed nervously.

"But may I ask what they've done to offend you?"

"He -" Victoria cut herself off suddenly, and she grimaced. By revealing the gender, she might have revealed too much already. "They haven't really done anything, I suppose. I've probably just been foolish. I wasn't on my guard."

"But surely they must have done something to make you feel this way," he commented. "I'm sorry that they are making you worry."

"I'm just realizing certain things about certain people," she said. Finally, she turned around to face him. "Things that they kept hidden from me. Understandably, I think, but it changes everything."

Barnabas hesitated. He looked at the ground, digging his cane into one of the cracks between the bricks, then looked back up at Victoria. "I can't help the feeling that you're referring to me, Miss Winters," he said.

Again, she froze. It took a moment before she realized that the hand holding her purse was shaking slightly, and she steeled herself to stop it. She took a deep breath. She tried to weigh her options and consequences, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself: "You're a vampire."

Barnabas' eyes widened with surprise, then fury, and she could tell when he tried to morph that into something akin to amusement.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Winters?"

Victoria's eyes darted to the window, then to the lawn. She could run, she knew, but after her outburst, how far would he let her get? No, she had no choice now but to face the consequences of what she had just done. She set her shoulders back.

"You're a vampire, Mister Collins."

Victoria kept perfectly still as Barnabas stared her down from the bench, and then he finally rose. He held out a hand as if to grab her by the shoulder, but she darted out of his reach.

"You don't know what you're saying," he told her.

"I know perfectly well what I'm saying," Victoria argued. "It's my job to."

Barnabas gave her an odd, appraising sort of look. "It's nonsense, Miss Winters. Surely you know that vampires are the things of myths."

"That's what most people think, yes." She struggled to keep her voice calm. "My father worked for this family against such mythological things until he died. Things like you."

Barnabas glared, and his lip twitched in a small snarl. "You don't have any evidence."

He was getting angry. That much was obvious, and Victoria paused a moment to rethink what she was doing. She should have gotten the objects out of her bag earlier, she realized. She hurried, fumbling with the zipper, having forgotten about the rosary in her pocket. "Why have I only seen you at night?"

"I'm quite busy during the day, with the restoration of the house."

Her mind raced as she tried to remember all of the evidence she had against Barnabas under pressure. "The – the strange feeling I get around you. The trance-like state. Compulsion!"

"Miss Winters -"

"The marks on Willie's neck – the -" Victoria tried to continue, but she became preoccupied with the crucifix in her purse. She had her fingers around it, but the end had caught into the fabric inside the bag and was refusing to come out. She gave it a good pull, and suddenly the purse flew away from her hands, the crucifix included. The sharp point on the end of the object sent a stinging pain through Victoria's palm. She saw blood, and then her purse on the other side of the terrace. Barnabas had taken it from her and thrown it. When she looked at Barnabas, she saw that his face was livid.

Her breath came in short, quick gasps as he began to round on her, although she tried to keep her cool. It was no use. Her defenses were gone, at least the ones she remembered, and now she was left at the mercy of the vampire she had enraged.

"No one will believe you," he hissed.

"I've -" Her voice shook violently and she swallowed, trying to find the courage to speak. "I've already told Roger."

"And he's done nothing." Barnabas grabbed Victoria's arm with a vice grip. She let out a small cry as she tried to wrench free, but it was no use.

"He'll find out about this!" she said, but at this point, she knew she was bluffing. She didn't know how else to get out of the situation; this was the only bet that she had. "He'll find out what you've done, and he'll kill you himself!"

Victoria looked back at Barnabas. He snarled again, this time baring his fangs, and she could feel the energy drain from her body as she nearly fainted. He lifted her other hand, the one she had cut, and pressed his mouth to the wound. Victoria felt as though she would be ill; she looked away. Her eyes drifted across the terrace to where her purse lay. If she could only get over there...

Not knowing what else to do, Victoria kicked Barnabas in the shin.

He flinched. She couldn't have hurt him much, but he flinched, and in doing so, let go of her arm ever so slightly, but enough for her to pull away. She dove to the ground and began to move quickly. The purse was almost in her reach when she felt Barnabas pull her up, his grip so tight around her waist that she could hardly breathe. She felt him close to her neck, felt his fangs pierce her skin, but only managed a cry before she fainted – nowhere near loud enough for anyone to come to her aid.

Barnabas felt Victoria's body go limp in his arms. He felt her skin begin to grow cold, he watched her grow paler, but he couldn't control himself. He had wanted her, but he would hardly have admitted it to himself. He couldn't bring himself to admit that he had wanted to harm her, for she was his Josette, the woman he'd loved, finally returned to him, yet here he was, draining his lost love dry. And he couldn't stop. But he finally came to, and when he did, he dropped her. She fell to the ground unceremoniously as he backed away from her lifeless body, her her blood still dripping from his lips. He looked around frantically; there was no one around, and he let out an anguished cry as he fell to his knees, taking Victoria into his arms once again. This time, he held her in a more loving embrace, willing her eyes to open, willing her heart to beat once more, pleas and apologies spilling from his lips.

She didn't listen. She couldn't. No amount of begging could save Victoria Winters. He was too late.

Another cry escaped him before the sobs began to shake him, and then he knew what he had to do. He stared at her, lying still in his arms, before he pushed her hair back away from her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered once again, and he pushed back the sleeve of his left arm, revealing his wrist. He brought his wrist up to his mouth and bit down hard, just enough to draw blood. He flinched. Then, he managed to coax Victoria's mouth open and held his wrist to her lips, letting his blood drip inside and down her throat. After he was through, he sighed and rolled his sleeve back down, lifting Victoria up so that her head rested against his shoulder. He held her close and kissed her forehead, wiping away the blood that his lips left on her skin. Barnabas stayed like that for a long time before he silently stood, still carrying Victoria, turned, and began to walk in the direction of the Old House.

o o o

David couldn't sleep. He had been sent to bed a couple of hours before, and he'd tried to sleep – he'd really tried – but it was no use. He currently sat by his window, which was cracked open slightly, and he let the chilly breeze waft over him and into his room.

That was when he heard it.

It sounded like someone crying out in pain, but it was barely audible; it could have easily been a wounded animal, or even something David had imagined. Still, something about the sound put David on his guard, and he listened again, putting his ear closer to the window. When he heard no other sound, he opened the window wider and leaned out of it, his eyes darting around the dark lawn for some kind of source. David's room was actually in a rather convenient position, just above the terrace, but when David looked out, all he saw was the ledge and large tree that blocked his view. He sighed and frowned. Even the house was trying to keep him from anything exciting. With a huff, David made to close the window when he heard another noise: this time, it sounded like a sort of strangled sob.

It sent an anxious feeling through David, and he closed the window hastily, and locked it for good measure. He turned off his lamp and crawled into bed, moving completely under the blankets and pulling them close around him. He squinted his eyes shut so hard that he could see bursts of color behind them, and he stayed like that for quite a while. When he opened them, though, David found that he was still wide awake – more so than when he had gone to his window in the first place. The nervous feeling still hadn't left him alone; in fact, now that he was completely in the dark, he felt it more than ever. David tried to pull the blankets tighter around himself, but then it became too stuffy and he needed air. He poked his head out, and his eyes landed on the door.

It was open. Just a crack, but it was open just enough to send David scrambling from his bed to slam it shut. He locked it, just as he had his window, before going back to bed. He sighed again. He didn't know how late it was, but he did know that if he fell asleep in class tomorrow, Miss Winters would be less than pleased.

His eyes fluttered open again. He hadn't seen Miss Winters all day. Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about that, and he might have even been glad, but his imagination was currently working overtime. What if the cry he thought he heard earlier had been hers? What if she was hurt and he didn't tell anybody?

More importantly, why did he care so suddenly?

David didn't know, but his anxiousness mixed with a strange kind of worry, creating the perfect feeling to ensure that he wouldn't sleep at all. Reluctantly, he got out of bed again, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers near his nightstand. He unlocked his door and scooted out into the hallway, creeping in the dark until he came to the door of his father's bedroom. David took a breath and knocked lightly.

He heard a brief rustling, then footsteps, and then finally Roger answered the door. He looked tiredly down at his son and gave him a blunt, "What?"

David pointed to his room. "I heard something outside."

Roger's expression didn't change when he said, "Something like what? There are a lot of things outside."

"Someone crying," David replied.

"Crying?" Roger's brow furrowed before he brought up a hand to rub his temple. "David, I'm sure it was just the wind."

"They sounded hurt," the little boy said immediately. "It might've been Miss Winters."

Worry flickered on Roger's face for an instant before he closed his eyes and sighed. "Nonsense; I saw Miss Winters this evening with my own eyes, and I'm sure she hasn't left the house. And even if she has," he paused and looked down at David, "she's quite capable of taking care of herself."

"But -"

"No 'buts,' David. I want you to go straight to your room and back to bed. You have school in the morning."

David narrowed his eyes into a glare at Roger, but Roger ignored him and shut the door, leaving David in the dark again. Feeling along the wall so that he didn't trip, David trudged back to his room and back into his bed, just as he'd been told. Bitterness now mixed with the anxiousness and worry. No one ever listened to him. But they'd see. One day, they would see, and they would be sorry.

o o o

It wasn't even seven A.M when Willie practically barged into Collinwood. He knocked several times, getting louder and louder without letting up, until Carolyn finally answered the door in a robe, her hair still wet from her shower and a blow dryer clutched in her hand.

"I gotta talk to Missus Stoddard," Willie said breathlessly, pushing past Carolyn into the foyer.

"Good morning to you too, Willie," Carolyn said grumpily, standing with a hand on her hip. "What's so important?"

Willie took off his gloves and wrung them around in his hands as he turned to face Carolyn, and through his shakiness, he managed to notice that she was wearing nothing but her robe. Her eyes lingered oddly on her before Carolyn noticed and pulled it tighter around herself.

"What is it, Willie?" she asked again.

"It's – just – where's your mom at?" He looked away from her, and Carolyn stared blankly. She gave a shrug of her shoulders.

"I dunno, probably getting ready to wake David up soon. Really, Willie, what's the matter?" Her lips twitched downward in worry.

Willie shook his head. "I'll tell you in a minute – just – get your mom! Please, Carolyn!"

Carolyn's stomach dropped at the seriousness of his tone and she left her hair dryer on the table in the foyer before dashing up the stairs, calling for Elizabeth. Elizabeth met her at the balcony, running a brush through her long, dark hair.

"Carolyn, people are sleeping!" she scolded, but Carolyn pointed down into the foyer, where Willie stood.

"Missus Stoddard, I gotta talk to you."

"Of course, Mister Loomis." Elizabeth seemed to detect the urgency and moved down the stairs quickly. She swept her arm toward the drawing room. "We'll go in here -"

"No – it's okay, I can't stay long, I just gotta tell you what happened."

Elizabeth reached the end of the staircase and frowned, staring at Willie expectantly. Carolyn followed her.

"Well, what did happen?" Elizabeth asked.

Willie was just about to open his mouth to speak, but was cut off by loud footsteps above them. Roger emerged at the top of the staircase, looking rather cross with his tie loose around his neck.

"What's all of this commotion about?" he demanded, marching down the staircase. He glared in Willie's direction. "Loomis, there had better be a good reason for all of this.

Willie rolled his eyes and turned in a circle, running a hand through his hair. "Christ, are you gonna let me talk or not?"

Elizabeth laid a hand on Willie's shoulder. "Calm down, Mister Loomis. Tell us what's happened."

"It's Miss Winters," he said.

"Vicki?" Carolyn gasped. Elizabeth's eyes widened, and Roger visibly paled.

"What's happened to her?" Roger asked.

Willie held up a hand to stop them from talking and shook his head. "She's fine – I think she's fine – she got in an accident last night not far from here. Mister Collins – Barnabas – and I were out, too – we got her to a hospital, but -"

"Why didn't anyone tell us?" Elizabeth demanded.

"Mister Collins told 'em she lives here – which, I mean, she does – and that you all would be informed in the mornin'. Which I'm doin' now."

"Is she going to be alright?" Carolyn looked as though she might be close to tears.

"She was pretty bad last night, but they said she'll probably be okay," Willie replied. He scratched at his neck.

"We should go visit her," Carolyn said adamantly.

"Ah -" Willie shook his head. "She ain't allowed visitors right now. Not until they fix 'er up right. Besides, she ain't even awake, I don't think. They made us leave right after we brought her in, pretty much." He laughed nervously. "But I'm sure if you all called later, they'd be glad to let you."

Elizabeth turned to Roger. "The school. They don't know about..."

Roger shook his head. "No, you're right – you call them, Liz, I've got something I need to take care of myself."

Elizabeth nodded and then turned back to Willie. "Thank you for letting us know, Mister Loomis," she said gently.

Willie scratched at his neck again, smiling briefly. "It was nothin'."

"Carolyn, will you please show Mister Loomis out?" Elizabeth made her way to the drawing room, while Carolyn nodded and walked toward the door.

o o o

Roger had grabbed his phone out of his pocket before he even reached the back door, and when he reached for the handle, he had already dialed the number of the hospital.

"Collinsport Hospital. How may I help you?" answered the voice on the other end.

Roger stepped out onto the terrace in the chilly morning air. "Yes, this is Roger Collins. I'm calling about a patient that checked in late last night."

"Their name?" the receptionist asked.

"Victoria Winters," Roger answered.

"One moment, please." There was a brief rustling of papers on the other end as the receptionist presumably searched for the name, and then she returned. "I'm sorry, Mister Collins, we have no records for that name."

"That's impossible!" Roger insisted. He started to walk around the terrace. "I have it on good authority that she was checked in last night after a car accide -"

It was then that he saw the blood.

The dried puddle was right there in plain sight, a dark scarlet on the gray bricks. Dread filled Roger as he hesitantly walked closer and examined it. There was no way of identifying whose it was, of course, but it seemed concentrated in one spot, covering a few bricks and seeping into the cracks between.

"Mister Collins?" The receptionist said. "Sir? Hello?"

Roger snapped back to reality with a deadly seriousness. "That will be all," he muttered into the phone. He hung up and flipped it shut.