Chapter 10

He could understand how Iris felt, George thought. Barnabas was at Wyncliffe again and so absorbed in his work that he barely remembered that Collinsport existed.

And, unlike Iris, he could not take the day off so easily. And, face it, Barnabas had been a long time away from Wyncliffe and had to make up for the lost time.

They would have to make arrangements. At least once or twice a week, find a good spot that allowed for privacy.

It made him grimace. The privacy of the arrangements. Barnabas never had that problem with Iris. It was a matter of public record that they slept together, so they did not have to bother to hide themselves.

If he did not have to be reelected to this job, he might well go public about it. But he dared not risk telling the voters how he spent his off-duty time.

You could be a cop and be gay at the same time. But you could not run for county sheriff and be gay;. Not in this part of the country, at least.

He wondered how long it would take for the secrecy to get to Barnabas. He had suffered from secrecy long enough, until Carolyn, wanting to destroy him, had set him free instead. Could he return to it, even for love?

He thought back at their last meeting. He had been glad at first when Barnabas had decided all of a sudden to be more active in bed. He had wanted that from the first. Sure, he wished that Barnabas had been less clumsy about it...

...But he had been clumsy too, the first time he had taken the initiative. Dave had been patient with him, and had talked sense into it later on. He had to do that with Barnabas now.

Peter was whimpering. Blindfolded, suspended from his wrists, he waited for Delia to move, to say anything.

"You see, kid." Delia was speaking slowly, lingering with delight at each word. "Your parents spoiled you rotten, and now someone has to teach you how to behave. So I am going to do it, kid."

She swung the whip, but did not bring it down yet. She must remember that Peter was a child and could be seriously hurt. And no marks, either. Noting that would bring the child welfare agency knocking on her door.

So there was not much hitting that she could do. And preferably on the legs and arms, places that an active child could hurt himself ;playing.

And anyway, the whip was too good to waste on the brat.

She cracked the whip by Peter's feet, making the end of it coil around the ankles. Peter gasped, more in surprise than in pain.

"Nobody taught you how to talk to your mother, it seems. You must respect your mother, boy. You must respect your mother at all times.

The lash fell over the boy's tight and he screamed.

"Good" Delia said, approvingly "you are learning, kid."

Violent watched, moistening her lips. She had always wanted to so something like this. And not only to Peter.

Delia hit Peter on the tight. He screamed before the whip touched him and Delia smiled. Fear was such a useful emotion.

"More!" Violet shouted "More!"

Delia shook her head. "That's enough" she said firmly "you mark him too obviously and someone will call the cops."

"The cops did nothing when his father beat me up."

"Well, this is a different town. Both Sheriff Brant and Barnabas Collins take a dim view of such going-ons.

Violet looked down, disappointed.

Delia studied her. Violet was the one that she really wanted. Peter was important only in that he helped bind Violet to her.

Violet would make a good disciple. An accomplice. A lover.

She was not surprised to realize that she wanted Violet that way. She was not homosexual, but she was not heterosexual, either. Her love were the whips, and whoever would submit to them, male or female.

There was blood on the whip. The last blow had torn off a piece of skin. The whip now laid on the floor like a black snake, looking strangely alive. The red stain on it glowed like an eye.

Violet approached the whip, staring at the blood. She went down on her knees and lifted the braided leather tenderly in her hands.

She brought it to her lips and kissed it, the leather coiling slightly around her wrists

"Manic depressive" Julia's cold clinical voice did not fully mask her concern. She did care for her patients, maybe too much, and thus forced herself into the cool, aloof mask to keep the caring from hurting her to the point of uselessness.

Barnabas understood this. The Iron Lady was not so for lack of feeling, but for the excess of it.

"And the prognosis?" he asked, trying to imitate her detachment.

"Good. With proper treatment she will improve."

"What kind of treatment?"

Julia looked at him. "You want her?"

"I have plenty of time to give her. Most of my other patients are gone."

"Yes, they are," Julia acknowledged.

"So there is no reason for me not to."

Julia looked a bit skeptical. "I wonder if you are ready for the emotional demands she may make on you."

He smiled "Julia, I am not an invalid. You don't have to keep my hands tied anymore. I am well enough again and can take care of myself."

Julia decided that it was better not to say anything about Barnabas ever being able to take care of himself.

"Anyone else, I'd say yes, you have recovered. But not her. You have no idea of the emotional demands he could make on you. She could tear you up inside."

"I have had worse than that and survived. And I need something to do."

"You can help me update the records and check on personnel schedules, and figure out security procedures and... and a thousand other things that need doing around here."

"You are giving me a desk job, because you don't think I can do a therapists' job."

"Why is she important to you?"

"Why is it that important to you that I don't handle her?"

"I prefer that you took on a light workload for a while. I don't want you to have a relapse."

"I never felt better."

"In my opinion you are not ready."

"In my opinion, I am."

Barnabas could hear Ruby snickering behind him. He could not help being embarrassed. The spectacle of him and Julia bickering must be amusing to her.

He could not understand half of what she saw as amusing. Probably never could.

Julia saw his expression change, his mood become introspective. Something ran an alarm in her. Something warned her that Barnabas should have this patient.

"It is important to you to have her?"

"It is."

"All right, then. She is yours."

Willie sat bolt upright on the bed.

"Lou?"

Louella opened sleep-befogged eyes. "No, Willie. I am not having contractions. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure, you big baby. Don't worry so much. Remember what Barnabas told you."

"He should talk It is not him having a baby."

"It is not you, either. Go back to sleep."

It was late afternoon when Kenneth came into Julia's office.

"Julia, why didn't you call as promised?"

"I found out something. Why didn't you tell me that you had seen Barnabas?"

"Well, yes, I talked to him."

"I got his version. I would like to hear yours."

He explained to her his meeting with Zeb and the one with Barnabas.

"I got lectured by him. I think that he misunderstood me. I did not want to imply in any way that... that Woodard deserved to be killed."

"What were you trying to say?"

"I was shaken by what Zeb was doing. And by the fact that he expected me to agree with him. He could not accept human failings in his boyhood hero, so everybody had to pay for it. So I got to thinking that I had done the same thing with you. Sure, I told myself that it was more serious than that. But it sounded hollow. I cared little that it was murder. I cared that it involved my wife. I could not accept that in you no more than Zeb could accept the fact that George Brant was only an underage boy and, if there was a victim in the relationship, it was him."

"And Barnabas got it backwards?"

"I gave him the wrong impression, yes."

Julia chuckled. "I guess that he's rather sensitive about it. Since it is now him and George Brant."

Kenneth's eyes popped open. "You mean that... that Barnabas...?"

"Yes. Barnabas and George Brant. A new couple. Like Frank Torrance and Buffy Harrington. Like Angelique and Sebastian Shaw."

"Him?"

Julia chuckled. "Dave always had a peculiar sense of humor and little objection to a bit of pimping now and then. So he set up Barnabas to end up in George's bed. And Barnabas is now in love."

"Well... I'll be... Who'd have thought it? The sheriff, no less."

"Kenneth, don't repeat this."

"I won't... Julia have you considered it?"

"Yes."

"And your answer?"

"A tentative yes."

Se was coming off sedation. He wondered how she would react. Manic depressive. Swinging from one extreme to the other with nothing in between...

Oversimplification that that might be, there was much truth in it. At least he had some idea of how to handle her. He looked at her again. Ruby snickered. As she did ever since he had come here. He gulped. It would be hard, handling two patients at once, one of them without Julia's knowledge.

"You look so cute, standing over her." Ruby said.

He did not react. When he was dealing with a patient, he should not react to her. Later he would go over it with her...

He was now where he wanted to be. He was back at Wyncliffe, doing work that he love, being useful.. and using his bite to heal not hurt..

He wondered how Willie was doing, if he could manage on his own. Nonsense, Willie could manage nicely. So did Louella. he was needed here.

He wondered about Phillip, how he was doing with his show business career. Last letter he had, he seemed to be doing all right. But that was a while ago.

Then he wondered about George. If he ever suspected what had actually happened that last time... how would he react when he found out?

Well, he'd deal with it later. He had a patient to attend to. He bent over her throat, ready to receive the impressions of her mind.