I am sorry. I am so sorry. Wow, this update too forever! Thank you all so much for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I hope it was worth the wait and that you haven't given up on me yet. Again, my eternal gratitude to everyone who's read and reviewed (especially those who plan on continuing)!
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows
Warning: Blood, gore, and violence. The climax is not for the faint-hearted.
XX The Monster and the Man
The tantalizing whiff poured into his nostrils, that damnable smell of blood. And he was hungry, hungrier than he had ever been. Teeth grazed flesh as fangs clamped down. She shuddered against him, shaking and moaning in some mix of pain and ecstasy.
"You be a witch, sir?" she gasped.
Barnabas laughed, the dirty maiden twirling in his grip. He would have been lucky if he was a witch like her. The little village of Whiten was far way from Noir Valley, no richer, and somehow quieter. It would be a good number of days before the vampire was ousted. And this girl would be his first victim.
He knew what she was from her made up face, the tattered dress, the way she winked and rolled at him. And in her breath was a strong hint of alcohol- in the light, she might have been able to see how little means he truly had. But in the darkness and firelight, all she could see was the ghost of a nobleman's profile.
Hadn't this been the way he deprived Julia of so many girls? How many had he killed and not bothered to name? The Collinsport Strangler at large once more!
The girl's blood filled him, gushing into his throat, masking whatever lingering emotions there were with white hot lust. He would hold her closer, lodge those teeth just a bit deeper, and then-
He felt a brief spasm of pain, so minuscule that it might as well have been nothing. But he looked down at her, then, at her wide doe eyes, at those quivering pitiful lips. His victim looked nothing like her, and yet, in that moment, he saw someone younger, more horrified, more fragile… not the face of Josette Dupres, not the face of Julia Hoffman…
Sarah Collins.
In horror, he released her, the blood still dribbling down his chin. He futilely dabbed at it with a shirtsleeve, watching her stumble to her knees, shaking and gasping. What are you doing?
Yes, what had he been doing? Had he truly meant to leave Collinsport, to leave Noir Valley, to bring the same plague upon Whiten?
He lifted her up, the girl like a feather in his arms, pushed her forward. "Go," the vampire rasped.
"What the devil!?" she shrieked, dashing away in a frenzied limp. But he paid no heed to the screams that faded with her.
Still dabbing at the blood on his chin, Barnabas considered that little spasm. Guilt, perhaps, but it had been too visceral a reaction, the ties of which he was familiar with. Then that would mean- the syringe.
He knew it contained Julia's blood. During the transfer, had it somehow entered his corpus the same method all his other sanguine endeavors had? He threw his head back and laughed, blood-stained teeth glinting in the remains of the night. Ah, the poetic irony.
He had been the damnation of house Collins. He would be so for house Chanson. And he would not fail Julia Hoffman a second time.
The vampire turned on Whiten and a bat set off for Noir Valley.
Jack's lids lifted heavily, the world a sluggish haze of fire hot pain. The swaying light of a dim lamp dangled before his face, rough voices churning, the word "devil" passing by his ears like a gnat. The undertaker moaned.
"Ye who raise the dead," the madman ranted above him, "brought a plague on us all."
"The devil's afoot," the other voices agreed. Two others? Three? He couldn't tell in the dark, and the steady warm scarlet that obscured his vision was of no help.
Go t'hell! But all he could manage was a groan. At least more than one pair of hands was holding him down, pinning him to the very table that he had made up the corpses on. In retaliation, knuckles smashed against his face anew. The familiar taste of blood built from cut lips.
When the dizziness subsided, Jack realized something was horribly amiss with his head- the blood veiling his vision clung too vividly, seeming to pool endlessly, clumping in his wheat hair, staining the dusty table. My eye.
"What 'ave you done?" Jack slurred, "what'd you do t'me?"
"Send the devils back," the madman snarled, bearing down on the helpless man, eyes wild and flaming, as if he really had been taken by the devil he spoke of.
"That again!?" Jack rasped, "there be no devil!"
Fingers flew into his field of vision, and then lodged themselves into the gaping wound, twisting and prodding at the ruined eye, blood splaying as the undertaker screamed.
"'E who lies a second time!" the madman shouted, "e'll be punished! Ye who brought this upon us- Noir Valley in flames!"
Jack choked and spluttered, half curses and thoughtless threats pushing their way past his cries of pain. He struggled against his captors, flailing like a dying fish. His legs kicked and pushed, attempting to knock at the flesh of his tormentor. They could all be damned before he died like this!
"You brought Shadrach Chanson back to life!" another accused, pushing down hard on his arms.
"Never trusted a Loomis my whole life!"
Jack managed to lift his head by an inch in spite of the pain, enough to make that damnable hand pull out of his eye, and then- he crunched down on the madman's bloodied hand, teeth pulling at flesh and the disgusting taste of his own blood.
Revenge was fast, but their vengeance was even swifter. Jack was immediately knocked back down, fists hammering at his chest, fingers bruising his windpipe, hands ripping at the wound on his head. Between the anger and shock, he struggled for air inside the pain, images of Jessica and James and his father swirling up to the front of his mind.
And then… nothing.
The pain stopped and Jack was left coughing on the table, limbs free at last. Before he could fully register what happened, the unmistakable crunch of bone was followed by a piercing shriek. There was another shout of "devil" before that voice too was drowned out by what sounded like the smashing of a skull.
Jack dared to look, one eye struggling to stay open, the dim light enough for him to make out the features of- Collins.
Barnabas had the madman splayed out on the ground, bare hands tearing the throat open, letting blood pour out and run over those long fingers. The vampire all but threw his own head at the wound, fangs digging into the ragged flesh with an aggression that bespoke pure malice.
When the vampire at last looked up, his face was a mask of blood, the sharp angles of his cheeks looking as if they had indeed cut past the flesh. Mind half clouded with fog, Jack turned his good eye on the rest of the party- one fellow was lying at a painful bent, his head lolling to one side. And under that head was a dark spread of blood. The other man, or what was left of him, was lying adjacent, as if he had been tossed up in the air and ripped apart by some wild animal.
Worse than a wild animal.
Even after having seen the vampire's barbaric display, all Jack could- and wanted to, for that matter- ask him was: "s'my eye alright?"
Barnabas tore a chunk of cloth from the corpse's ragged shirt and swiped at his own face. He then stalked over and peered, fingers absently touching Jack's face; there was so much blood that Jack couldn't tell who it belonged to, himself or the vampire's victims.
"It's gone," Barnabas said.
"What?"
"It's been crushed. Your eye is gone." Barnabas said this last line slowly, watching the undertaker's face for a reaction.
The young man's knees went weak and he found himself in Barnabas' bruising grip. Half blinded and in more pain than he could handle, Jack found it difficult to stay awake. The only thing keeping him conscious was the fact that he wasn't sure he'd be able to wake up.
"Ah, shit. Of all the- hell! I- damn- ye should've left 'im alive!" Jack cursed, "let me dig 'is eye out! See how they like it! Damn it!"
For good measure, he spat on the corpse, or where he assumed it was. Too much blood was obscuring the vision in the remaining eye.
"Where's Julia?" the vampire asked, having heard none of the rant.
With what strength he had left, Jack glared up at him. "Patch me up first, eh?"
Julia failed to remember when or why she fell asleep. Her last memory was of Chanson dragging her away, looking like an escaped inmate from bedlam. Judging from the throbbing in her head and the thin trickle of blood from her temple, one of his men must have struck her at some point.
She took in her surroundings, breath hitching. It was the all too familiar bedroom of Shadrach Chanson. And even now, wrists bound to the chair she had been propped on, just coming into consciousness, more disoriented than she had ever been, she still recognized that wallpaper. She still remembered his whispers in her ear, his scent in the sheets, his body in the very chair she sat on.
"Dear Stephen thought you'd be more comfortable in here."
Startled, the woman's eyes fell on the source of that light voice. A boy stepped out from behind the thick curtains, playing with a candle in his hand, pale fingers passing in and out of the flickering flame. His silver hair glowed in the dark and when he smiled, something in that perfect little face made her want to vomit.
"So you're the devil's whore? You made Shadrach die before our bargain would complete?" the child said, more to himself than Julia.
"What are you rambling about!?" Julia snapped. "Where's Chanson?"
"Hiding down there as we speak," the boy replied, "he's going to burn Noir Valley down as a gift to me. But he's also under the impression I'd want something from you, madame… only you can save him from the devil, he says. So there he goes, trying to purge our town of devils while keeping the only devil around in his home."
The boy giggled, wiping away a mirthful tear from the corner of his eye. "So, Julia Hoffman, let's see if he's correct."
"Who are you?" She had already seen a vampire and she was more than certain this child wasn't human. A devil, was it?
"Christian Faulks."
He came over and stood on his tiptoes. "Noir Valley's mighty founder."
And then those petal lips pressed against her own. Coughing, Julia pulled her head away, sending the boy stumbling back.
"Some whore you are," he hissed, "well, Stephen was wrong again. The idiot. You won't be saving anyone after all."
Julia watched his scowl pull into a smirk before Christian blew the candle out.
Jack stumbled out of his shop, clumsily clinging onto the vampire's arm, strips of gauze wound tightly around his head and plastered to the blood from his ruined eye. It was too dark for him to make out what was happening, though he could see what appeared to be street lights ahead.
"Wyndcliffe- should still be there," he mumbled, another bout of nausea overtaking him.
"Noir Valley is in flames," Barnabas replied, having once again heard nothing the undertaker said.
In flames? What are you on about? Jack squinted- the lights were bright flames belonging to makeshift torches. And the crowd, no, mob, carrying them was hollering like banshees.
"The devil's afoot!" were the only words he could make out. Not this again.
There was a frenzy in the mob, dirty faces blurring as they clustered together under the flames, everyone pushing and screaming as if hell had really overtaken them. Jack saw it in the glint of their eyes and the wild movements in each limb- man and woman, old and young, they all came together like some mass of-
The plague personified. It was a plague of the mind and the devil had taken root within. Jack shuddered.
That, and the town really was burning. The brightness coming for the other buildings wasn't a result of the torch reflections. The mob really had set its own home on fire.
"How are we s'posed to get past this lot!?" Jack hissed, biting back a cry of pain.
The vampire steadied him. "Jack, go to Wyndcliffe. I know where Julia is."
"How? Ne'ermind. You really know?"
"I believe so. And my patience is wearing thin."
With that, Barnabas let go, leaving Jack swaying by himself. Before the undertaker could call again, the vampire threw himself into the mob in a flutter of shadowy motion. "Oy! Barnabas!"
Pained screams mixed with the wild chanting. Jack caught sight of Barnabas standing in the center, shoving persons aside one by one. His hands were not light.
"The devil's afoot!" Barnabas shouted, "and he stands before you! Come!"
The vampire threw his head back and laughed, or rather, cackled. To Jack's horror, the cackling did not stop. In the frenzy of screams and roars, some did descend on Collins and in response, he whirled past their grips, smashed the attackers aside, and freely showed those fangs.
Barnabas plucked knife from a charging man's grip before pulling the man forward and plunging his teeth into the latter's shoulder. A good chunk of flesh came out with his fangs. Throwing his screaming victim back into the crowd, the vampire laughed once more.
Jack forced himself out of the stupor and moved. If anything, Barnabas' insane display had cleared a path for the undertaker. He hobbled through it, hoping no one would take note of his person.
They were too busy running from and toward the vampire to notice. Barnabas gorged himself on blood, taking each attacker in stride and biting wherever he saw fit. Crimson splattered his face and exploded on his shirt.
He was still licking his lips in evident satisfaction when a sharpened stake drove clean through his side. The vampire made no noise, though Jack cried out in shock for him. The more daring members of the mob surged forward, latching onto the stake, determined to take down their devil.
It was for naught because Barnabas dug the stake out himself.
"You missed- you missed the mark!" he laughed, dropping the stake and crushing it with his foot.
Jack wondered if it was the bloodlust or if the plague had reached Barnabas as well because the vampire's eyes were as mad as the rest of that crowd. The young man shut his eyes as a flash of fire burst in front of his line of vision.
Barnabas was twirling in the midst of the mob, knocking away torches as he grabbed their handlers in a macabre waltz, and pulling in a new partner with each step. Those torches tipped and fell until the flames followed in the vampire's wake.
"Hell be on us!"
Jack moved on, chancing a glance back and wincing at the sight of so many people set on fire. He'd be lying if he didn't say the only loss he felt was the lack of business he'd have if they all burnt to crisps. Then again, he would rather not be in contact with their madness again. Maybe the plague was already upon his mind too.
When he at last reached Wyncliffe, Jack found it smoking in fire as well. Damn it! He was about to charge in when an all too familiar voice called to him.
"Jack! That really you!?"
Jack turned toward it, steadying himself against another wave of disorientation as Jessica came forward. Against the flames, he could see the soot on her hair and first, and save for a few scrapes, she looked fine. Behind her were more of the Wyndcliffe girls huddled together, Sarah sobbing amongst them.
"What 'appened here?" he asked.
"Chanson burned it down!" Jessica cried, throwing her arms around her neck. "I w- wanted to find you, but look at what's 'appened t'Noir Valley!"
"S'only a matter of time before we burnt ourselves to the ground, eh?" he said bitterly.
"What's wrong, Jack? How did-?" she asked, tracing the bloodied bandages on his face with worry.
"Won't be as 'andsome as I used t'be… Nevermind me. Where's Julia?"
Jessica frowned. Oh, don't tell me-
"Sarah said Chanson took 'er. Don't know what 'e wants with Madame, but it, it can't be good, Jack."
"Shit." He held her tight, Jessica's weight the only thing keeping him from toppling over. Oh, Barnabas would take this news well.
"The plague'll burn it all. If we 'ave to die tonight- I want us to- Jessica, will you marry me now?"
She pulled apart from him, startled. "I thought you wanted t'wait til-"
Jack laughed hoarsely. "Wait, wait- all I ever talked about. Always going on about leaving town and now look at it. No more! I want t'spend the rest o' my life with you… even if it's one hour more."
"But how will you- there's no priest!"
"The devil's afoot! I don't bother about that anymore. Say yes and you be my wife from that moment on."
Jessica was not beautiful in the least, makeup smeared, hair undone, dress covered in dirt and burns. And Jack had a good idea of how battered and bloodied he looked. Noir Valley was coming apart around them and a vampire was busy massacring a crowd gone mad.
"Yes," she told him.
The undertaker cupped her face and gave his wife the maddest kiss he had ever bestowed on anyone's lips.
Stephen watched the distant flames from the French window, desperately clutching onto the balcony. It would be so easy to topple over and smash himself against the carpet below. But no- he had lived until now and he would continue to live.
I outlived you brother! I outlived Faulks- I outlived them all!
He fed into the madness of Noir Valley and convinced it to burn itself. Soon it would all be ash and dust like the remnants of Shadrach. But Stephen Chanson would still be here- he would escape the clutches of the plague and of that demon.
Hoffman was locked in Shadrach's old room, a last offering Stephen made to Christian. He was convinced that she had been the cause of it all- it all made sense to him now. Even as a boy, he had never liked Hoffman and now he knew why. Yes, her very existence, her presence near his brother, had caused their fall. And with her gone, the devil would forgive them.
Faulks was dead. Shadrach was dead. Esther was dead. All that remained of the past was Julia Hoffman and with her gone-
He let loose a scratchy laugh. He would be a free man. Only the ghost of his brother would remain, for he was convinced that Collins was the living embodiment of his sins. Stephen would escape the vampire as well.
I'll be free! Free!
"If you carry on this, you won't be free any time soon," quipped a young voice.
Stephen spun. Christian was behind him, playing with locks of his own hair. To please the boy, Stephen would have groveled but the look of dissatisfaction from the demon halted him.
"Did you- is she…?" Stephen asked.
"I want nothing to do with her. Toying with her type is usually a bore- she's still screaming into nothing as we speak."
"What-"
"I intend to check on Noir Valley now. I hope your hard work didn't go to waste, dear Stephen."
Christian gestured for the young lord to stoop and Stephen complied. The demon pecked him on the cheek, lips fiery hot. He was left crumpling in shudders at Christian's parting words: "Or there will be nothing left to waste."
The fading footsteps told him the demon had gone. Gathering what was left of his wits, Stephen clambered to his shaky feet. His servants were dispersed throughout the manor, told to protect his home from whatever may come or to face the consequences. Johnson had already shot a footman for him.
Hoffman.
Stephen charged toward his brother's old room, memories resurfacing. Shadrach had looked terrible in death, ashen and gaunt, blood smearing his cracked lips, and one look at the dreadful corpse told Stephen he never wanted to see such a sight again. But the stain of death on his own hands told him otherwise. The very hands that took Shadrach's last breath and burned his body to nothing.
He would burn them all to nothing, then. Yes, Stephen decided, fire was the only solution left for the likes of him.
"Go away! Go away!" Hoffman screeched from behind the dark door, her screams piercing his ears.
He reached for the wooden stake in his inner pocket, sharpened to perfection. He had meant it for Collins, but if it would silence Hoffman first…
Stephen pushed open the door and stalked forward in the dark. He could see the whore's shape, her body still strapped to the chair, as if bound by the shadows themselves. She blinked at him, struggling to stay upright.
"S- shadrach?" she whimpered.
"Yes," he muttered, "Yes, it's me."
"Oh."
"Stay still, dear." He was inches from her. He readied the stake, looked for her chest-
"I'm not stupid, Stephen," she said suddenly, "I'm not like you."
"Why you!"
Julia glowered at the stake's pointed tip. "If you want to kill me, do it now. All your Christian did was frighten me with shadow puppets- I've had my fair share of blood and death- shadows are not something I fear. And you, Stephen, you've always been a coward."
"Shut up!"
"Haven't you!?"
A burst of flames from the outside lit up the room, driving the shadows back, starling both occupants. Stephen rushed to pull the curtains apart. A row of flames licked at the mansion walls, the result of a thrown lamp. He looked down, a thundering pound assaulting the Chanson doors.
"CHANSON!" a voice boomed.
That was-
No-
Stephen was free-
"Chanson, you petulant dolt! You deplorable villain!" Collins ranted from below, his dark figure covered in blood, the flames scorching his legs, "Let me in so I can put an end to your egregious existence!"
He continued to beat on the door. Stephen thrust open the window and laughed.
"You can't come in, Collins!" he screamed back, "I will never invite you in! You can stay and burn with the rest of them- or did they try to run the devil out of town!?"
"Stephen Chanson, let me in or so help me!"
"I know about your kind, Collins. Stay out until daylight! Burn with your whore!"
"You heinous- you-" With a roar, the vampire crashed into the door with another groundshaking pound, "Chanson, face me, you piece of shit!"
And to Stephen's horror, Collins stepped back, a piece of wood wedged in his bloodied hands. He's tearing down the door. He turned on his heels and rushed out into the foyer.
"Johnson! All of you! Secure the doors!"
"Etiquette means no more, Chanson!" Collins continued from the outside, "I will dismantle your home piece by piece if I must! I- will- have- your head!"
Stephen all but flew through the halls, shouting incoherent orders at his men. He kicked open the door to his own room and slid towards the bed. Diving under it, he pulled out the rifle strapped beneath the floorboards.
Silver bullets. Silver bullets!
A voice nagged at him, asking what good those would do. But no wooden bullets to be found, nothing save that stake to use against the monster outside. Another bout of shuddering overtook him. Could this be it? Maybe fate had it in for him all along- maybe Barnabas did look like Shadrach for a reason- maybe this was his brother's revenge.
A woman's screech from below silenced those thoughts.
He's here!
Stephen picked himself up, leaving the room slowly, rifle shaking in his hands. He came to the edge of the staircase and looked down. The Chanson doors were ruined, their carvings ripped apart, the wood splintered, a gaping deformed hole in the space that Collins had created to force his way in. And in that doorway stood the vampire, chest heaving with dramatic pants.
Collins looked even worse from that angle, the fire picking its way into the mansion. The vampire's attire was scratched and torn, dusted with blood and soot, all too dark and violent against his ghostly skin. His hair was a blackened mess and his face was no less bloody than the rest of him. Whose blood all of it was, Stephen could not tell, nor did he wish to.
Dark, wild eyes flashed at him. Collins trembled, the Chanson servants too frightened to step near him.
For his part, Stephen aimed the rifle. In case…
"I'll kill you," Collins snarled.
Stephen fired. The accompanying shots told him Johnson and the three remaining footmen had joined in. Then all hell broke loose.
Collins sped through the bullets, throwing himself over Johnson, and digging his nails into the man's throat. As the other continued to empty their guns in desperation, the vampire rolled away, leaving Johnson to sputter on the ground. He tackled the man nearest the banister next, horrifically unaffected by any of the bullets ripping into his person. Wrenching the gun from his hand, Collins proceeded to snap the man's arm and silence his screams of pain with a savage bite to the throat. Blood splattered on the stairs.
"You're a fool if you think I need your invitation, Chanson!" he shouted upwards.
The two behind him closed in, on their last round of bullets, and in a flash, the vampire spun around and appeared behind the rightmost footman. Pale hands closed around the victim's gun and the latter fired a shot into the chest of his comrade across. He cried out as Collins continued the assault, breaking bone while turning the man's hands on himself. The trigger pulled and Stephen saw the head explode in red.
"One left…"
The sharp fangs were in front of his eyes. In a frenzied attempt to escape the vampire's sudden grip, Stephen fired once more, turning to stagger through the halls. From the corner of his eye, he watched the vampire spit out the very bullet he fired.
"Alas, alas," Collins taunted, or rather, threatened, "where are your manners, Stephen?"
"Don't come any closer!"
There was nowhere left to hide and he was running out of places to run. The roar of fire told him the flames had made their way into Chanson Manor. So am I to burn with the rest of Noir Valley?
No.
He made a turn into Shadrach's room- he would fight to the end, grasping for the tendrils of life until the very end. Even if it meant living mere seconds more than the others.
"Hoffman," he beckoned.
The cold material of a candelabra crashed into his head.
Julia stood over Chanson, ready to strike once again, the candelabra now stained with his blood. Wrists raw from rope burns, she looked from her abused hands to his bleeding head. It would take more than a fair amount of makeup to cover them up. She brought the candelabra on him again.
Julia had readied herself to die in House Chanson, in this farfetched manner, either tortured to death by the demon boy or murdered by Stephen. If fate threw her another bone, she would be a fool not to take it. When Stephen had stormed out to face Barnabas, she pushed the chair towards the window and hopped at the glass. A good many cuts marred her skin, but there had been enough sharp glass lying around for her to cut the cords around her limbs by rubbing against them.
Only then had it dawned on her that the vampire had reappeared. Why he picked here and why now was beyond her. It did occur to her that perhaps… but she wasn't that foolish.
While a bloodbath no doubt took place downstairs, she looked for anything to use in that room. Christian had tried to paralyze her with shadows- showed her images of her father burning and dying, of Woodard bleeding out, of creatures bursting from the wombs of her girls, of Lang's severed head. She recalled vomiting once, but the scientific side told her none of it was real- she knew the details of her father's death, of Lang's, and she knew shadows were just that. Shadows.
It was the solid that she had to worry about. And so the illusion passed.
When Stephen next barged into the room, firearm in hand, Julia swung at him and now he lay twitching at her feet.
She prepared to hit him again, but she only managed to graze him when his hand shot out and grabbed her ankle. He struggled to pull her down and in turn, she tried to kick him off. She struck him in the back, in the ear, anywhere where flesh was present.
"Damn- damn you!" he choked, blood trickling over one eye as he threw a hand over the candelabra in her latest swing. He pulled it toward him and she tugged it back, the two stuck fighting over the makeshift weapon.
And then Julia found herself stumbling back, the candelabra dropped. Stephen had been yanked by the scruff of his shirt and violently thrust toward his assailant.
Barnabas closed his mouth over Chanson's neck, crunching on the flesh and letting a spasm of blood flow out. And as soon as he had latched on, he let go, dropping the young man like a doll and spitting out what blood remained unswallowed.
In the seconds that followed, Julia could hear nothing but her own pants mixed with the vampire's, Stephen's shallow breathing somewhere in the mix. I should finish him off.
But before she could do anything, the vampire had come to stand before her, hands tentatively reaching for her shoulders. He really did look like a monster then, more frightening than she had ever seen him, colored by so much blood and adrenaline that she half expected him to go up in smoky flames any minute.
"You came back," she whispered. But had any of that mattered to her when it came to Barnabas Collins?
It never did.
"I never meant to hurt you… if I did, that is-"
"You did."
"…"
"Is that the only apology you're capable of, Barnabas?" she asked, lips twitching into a smile, raising her arms in the smallest of gestures for him. If they had to go back through the fire, then she would rather do it hand-in-hand with him. Dust and dirt, soot and ash, smoke and fire, blood and flesh—they had stepped through all of it together and together, she would step through it again.
"Julia…" He walked towards the embrace, looking much like the mute she once mistook him for, dirtier, sloppier, and somehow brighter. For a brief fraction of second, she could have sworn she saw his dead chest heave.
Barnabas never managed to touch her. Without warning, he fell, collapsing in her arms, and she sunk to her knees, his head on her breast. As if on cue, Chanson chuckled from his spot on the floor.
Dawn had arrived.
Thanks for reading! Feel free to review, of course. I don't think there are enough words in the world to cover how sorry I am for how long this took, haha. I hope I'm forgiven!
Next time: The end of the final showdown, things wrap up, and Jack returns
On a side note, if anyone wants to offer an explanation for why Barnabas looks like Shadrach (other than symbolic coincidence), I'm all ears ;)