In the Great House at Collinwood, the walls, corridors, and stairways are more than witnesses to the Collins family mysteries and secrets—they are a party to them. Construction on the house was completed in 1795, the same year in which Barnabas Collins was turned into a vampire and locked away in a coffin in a secret room, in the family mausoleum. The house was built to the specifications of Barnabas's parents, Joshua and Naomi Collins. It was modern by the standards of its time, and unlike the Old House, over the years subsequent generations of the family had updated the house, installed modern conveniences, and added their own secret features.
Over time, the family closed an increasing numbers of wings and rooms due to disuse and the need to economize. What remained unchanged, however, were the hidden passages, stairways, and rooms integrated throughout the house. Though whole swaths of the house were unused by its current inhabitants, they retained their secrets and hidden purposes.
Collinwood 1968
When the house phone at Collinwood rang late Friday evening, Maggie was unsurprised to learn the call was for her. She expected it.
John had called her nightly, including the night of their first "date." She had just walked in that night, hanging her sweater by the front door of the Great House, and setting her purse on the table in the foyer, when the house phone rang in the drawing room. She went at once to answer it.
"Hello," she said.
"May I speak to Maggie Evans, please?" came the voice through the phone line.
"This is she," Maggie told him.
"I thought I recognized your voice," he said, "but I wanted to be sure."
Just then Mrs. Stoddard came into the drawing room. "I thought I heard the phone," she began.
"Just a moment," Maggie said into the handset. Then covering the mouthpiece, she said, "Yes, it's for me. I hope it didn't disturb you."
"Not at all," she smiled and backed out of the room.
Removing her hand, Maggie said, "Hi. I'm back."
"Hello," he said awkwardly. "You said I could call you."
She chuckled. "Yes, but I didn't think you'd call so soon."
"I'm sorry," he began.
"No, it's okay," she broke in. "Where are you calling from?" she asked.
"The phone in the back of the Blue Whale. Ed said I'm never allowed to use the phone in the bar. He said I'm not even allowed to answer it if it rings," he laughed.
Maggie laughed too. Then he told her about Ed's protective behavior, for which she apologized and explained. Before she realized it, a half an hour had passed. "I have to go," she told him then. "I still have to get up tomorrow."
"Right," he said. "To work as a governess."
"That's right."
"May I call you again?" he asked.
"Of course. Well, until then, goodnight," she said in a shy girlish voice.
"Goodnight Maggie."
He had called every night since then to wish her goodnight. And each night they had spent more time talking than she could account for at the end of the call. She could hardly say what they talked about—her day with the kids, his day and attendant flashes of insight, Ed's peculiarities—it hardly mattered.
So Maggie had intended to be close to the phone Friday evening, but Amy was restive and it took longer than usual to get her settled for the evening.
"I wish you were coming with us," Amy said.
"You're going to have a great time," Maggie told her.
"I know," her young charge responded. "I've never been to Boston before. I want to see everything," she enthused. "But …"
"But what?" Maggie asked.
"Sometimes, I'm a little afraid of Mrs. Stoddard. She seems so stern sometimes—not like you. That's why I wish you were coming too."
The next day, Mrs. Stoddard was taking Amy and David to Boston for a few days to visit Roger Collins, who was there on business. Roger had been away from the estate for a few weeks, and Elizabeth thought it was time for David to see his father. So, she arranged the trip. She had invited Maggie to go as her guest—not as the governess—but Maggie declined. Elizabeth guessed that the young woman, who had known so much hardship, needed a break from her charges and duties, and a vacation in the company of herself, David and Amy would hardly qualify as a break.
"Mrs. Stoddard isn't stern, just a little formal. She cares a great deal about you, Amy," Maggie told the girl as she tucked the covers around her.
"I know," Amy said, as her eyelids grew heavy.
Maggie checked the time on her watch necklace. "I'll see you in the morning, before you leave for the train station," she said. Then she turned off the lamp on Amy's night table and headed downstairs hoping she'd not missed the call she expected.
Arriving in the foyer, Maggie found the drawing room doors open. She could hear Carolyn's voice within. She peeked in to be sure she wasn't intruding. Carolyn was on the phone. Tony sat on the davenport, sipping a brandy. He greeted Maggie in a soft voice, so as not to disturb Carolyn. "Evening, Maggie."
"Hi Tony," Maggie replied in an equally soft voice.
"She just walked into the room," they heard Carolyn say to the caller. "Yes, of course." There was a brief pause. "You too." Carolyn turned to Maggie with a broad smile on her face. "It's for you," she said holding out the handset to Maggie.
Maggie's cheeks colored as she crossed the room and took the phone from Carolyn. Simultaneously, Tony rose and said, "That's our cue to finish our nightcap in the library."
Under different circumstances, Maggie would have demurred and protested about not wanting to displace them, but this evening she simply said thanks, and watched them leave.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello. I hope I'm not disturbing you," he began as he always did.
"Not at all. I had some difficulty getting Amy settled, that's why I …" her voice drifted off, not wanting to admit that she was waiting for his call.
"Maggie? Are you still there?"
"Yes—sorry."
"I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow … and visiting the estate," he added.
She laughed lightly. "I'm looking forward to it too. I thought I'd pick you up around 11:00, if that's okay."
"11:00 is fine, but I'd like to meet outside of the Inn, not at the Blue Whale."
"Away from Ed's prying eyes?" she surmised.
"Exactly. I want to stay in the good graces of my boss and landlord, and spending the day with you won't endear me to him."
"So," she said, preparing to say goodnight, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Then he asked why she'd had difficulty getting Amy to settle down and it led to a longer conversation. Once again, before she realized it they had spent the better part of a half-hour talking.
Saturday morning, Maggie woke far earlier than was necessary. She turned over and fluffed her pillow again and again in hope of falling back asleep. When at last she decided that she was now truly awake, she got out of bed and went to the window. Drawing back the curtains revealed a glorious day in the making. The sun was shining and the sky was clear though dotted with a scattering of fluffy white clouds.
Maggie immediately began to readjust her plans for the day. Though she had hours yet before meeting John in Collinsport, she went to the wardrobe and took out her cornflower blue sundress, a pale lilac cardigan and sandals. She held the dress in front of her and looked at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity. Today it felt like she was going on a date—a real date. And she wanted to look like it.
Later that morning, true to her word, she went to Amy's room.
"Wow, you look pretty," Amy said.
Maggie smiled. "Thank you. I guess the extra effort paid off."
"You always look pretty, Maggie," the child told her. "I meant you look extra pretty today."
Maggie was now anxious to turn the conversation. She said, "Look what I brought." She held up her small train case. "I thought you could borrow it for your trip."
"Really, Maggie?" Amy's face beamed.
"Of course. You can pack your comb and brush, and eau de toilette in it," Maggie replied as she set the bag on Amy's dresser.
Amy went to Maggie and threw her arms around Maggie's waist. "I still wish you were coming with us."
"You'll be too busy having fun to notice I'm not there," Maggie laughed. "Let's finish your packing."
Having delivered Mrs. Stoddard, David and Amy safely to the train station, Harry Johnson returned to the Great House to pick up his mother. He and Mrs. Johnson were spending the weekend visiting her sister in Bangor, as well as restocking needed pantry items. Mrs. Johnson had worried whether the remaining residents of the Great House could do without her for the weekend, but received assurances from each that they would be fine left on their own for such a short time.
Thus it was that before long the Great House was very quiet. Carolyn, Maggie assumed, was sleeping in. Julia was probably already out and about—maybe at the Old House.
Maggie went to the kitchen. She enjoyed being there without feeling like an intruder, or having to ask Mrs. Johnson's permission. She had toast and coffee, and then finished her preparations for the day ahead.
Maggie placed the picnic basket on the table in the foyer and went to retrieve a blanket from the small closet under the stairs. When she emerged, Julia Hoffman was coming in the front door.
"Good morning, Maggie," Julia said. Then consulting her watch, she added, "Well, almost afternoon."
"Morning, Julia. Only an early riser thinks that quarter to 11:00 is nearly afternoon," Maggie said smiling.
Julia offered Maggie a slight smile. "Looks like you're heading out," she said observing the basket and blanket.
"Yes," Maggie beamed, "I offered to show John around the estate today, and it's such a nice day, I thought we'd start with a picnic lunch."
"Yes," Julia said, in a measured voice very familiar to Maggie. "It's a glorious day out, I've just returned from a walk myself." Then Julia came to the point that her wary tone foreshadowed. "Maggie, do you think it's wise to spend quite so much time with John?"
"You asked me to," Maggie responded with uncharacteristic tartness.
"Yes and I appreciate it—I do. But now, well, I'm concerned, that's all. We know very little about him and you two seem to be growing very close, very quickly."
"So people in town are talking about us?" Maggie asked.
"Yes, that and my own observation. It's just that it hasn't been that long since …" her voice trailed off.
"Go on, Julia. You can say it—since I was mentally disturbed," Maggie said bitterly.
"You know that I don't believe that," Julia said firmly. "But even your reaction to the notion that you're getting too involved suggests …" Julia searched for a tactful way to express her concern. "Maggie, you're still vulnerable. You've lost your father and Joe."
Maggie allowed her emotions to settle. "That's precisely what I like about being with John. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile—like I might break if he says or does the wrong thing."
"Maggie, John is vulnerable too, " Julia hastened to add. "All I'm saying is, please be careful for both your sakes."
Maggie knew that Julia was right—and yet, it wasn't what she wanted to hear or think about. Still, she owed Julia a great deal. In deference to that, she said in a conciliatory tone, "I will. Thanks Julia." Then Julia headed toward the library and Maggie took the basket into the kitchen to pack their lunch.
Julia's warning had tempered her excitement about the day ahead. As arranged, John was waiting in front of the Collinsport Inn when Maggie arrived a few minutes after 11:00. All at once, when she saw him, all thoughts of their mutual vulnerability—all warnings of growing too close, too soon, were pushed to the recesses of her mind.
"Hi," she called to him through the opened passenger window as she pulled to a stop. "Hop in."
"You look lovely, Maggie," John said as he slid into the passenger seat beside her. He leaned over, closing the space between them, and delivered a peck on her cheek.
As they drove back toward the estate, Maggie noticed John was unusually quiet. Where, she wondered, was the chatty man who called each evening and stretched a brief goodnight into a thirty-minute conversation? She tried to fill the space by ticking off her plans for their day—a walk through the woods to see the Old House, Eagle Hill cemetery and the Collins family mausoleum, and of course the infamous Widows' Hill, and then ending the day at the Great House.
"But first," she said, gesturing to the basket and blanket in the backseat, "It's such a nice day that I thought we'd have a picnic lunch."
"That sounds nice," he said distractedly.
Maggie turned off of the main road onto a smaller lane what wound down toward the sea. She gave her full attention to her driving and set aside her worry about John's sudden reticence. About two-thirds of the way down the road, there was clearing. Maggie pulled the car to one side of it and parked.
"The road continues," she told him, "but it's too narrow for the car. We have to go the rest of the way on foot. You don't might, do you?"
"Not at all. Lead the way," he said, sounding more like the man she'd come to know. "I'll follow you anywhere, Maggie," he added, definitely sounding like himself.
They retrieved the basket and blanket from the backseat. He carried the basket and she took the blanket as they continued on foot down the remaining distance of the road.
She noticed that he kept adjusting his shirt. Finally, she asked, "Is something wrong? With the shirt, I mean."
"What do you think of it?"
It was a short-sleeve knit shirt in brown with gold accents—very au courant. "It's nice?" she answered speculatively, wondering what he was trying get at.
"Do you think it suits me?" he asked, looking down at it. "Because it doesn't seem like me somehow. I know I should be grateful to the people at Windcliff for buying me clothes, but … well, it seems so informal—just—not me. I think whoever I really am, perhaps I'm vain about such things."
She laughed and offered a few reassuring words, but silently wondered whether that was all that was bothering him. Somehow, she thought not, but he would open up to her when and if he was ready.
As they rounded the final bend in the road, the small cove lay directly ahead of them. When they arrived, John held the basket, while Maggie spread the blanket in the shelter of the bluffs behind them. "Lunch is nothing special, I'm afraid—just what I could throw together—sandwiches, cookies, apples and a thermos with some lemonade. But still, it's a nice day for a picnic …" She realized she was prattling on and fell silent for a few moments. They dug into the picnic lunch. He preferred ham and cheese to the alternative—peanut butter and jelly. They finished the small meal accompanied by the sound of the surf lapping at the shore.
He set the empty basket off to the side. Then he gamely picked up the conversation. "This is a lovely spot. Do you come here often?" he asked.
She settled herself on the blanket—stretching out on her back, with her hands, fingers interlaced, behind her head. He followed suit, except settling on his side, propped on his elbow—the better to see her face. "Not often, but I used to, in the summer with Pop," she answered.
"Pop?"
"That's what I used to call my father."
"He was a painter, right?"
"Yes and he loved to paint seascapes—sometimes right here on the cove." Maggie paused, a wistful look on her face. "Everything's different now," she continued. "This is the first time, I've …" She chewed at her lower lip.
"What?" he asked.
"The first time I've been back since the day that Pop found me here at this cove after the kidnapping." She turned slightly to assess his reaction. "I don't remember any of it, of course. But I realized that I've been avoiding this place."
"Until now?"
"Well," she said with forced nonchalance, "there had to be a first time. After all, the cove is too pretty to avoid forever—especially on a perfect day for a picnic." She hadn't realized until now how talking to him about her dark time had brought things to the surface that she usually kept buried. She was quiet for a moment before adding, "I'm sure you must think I'm as damaged as everyone in Collinsport says I am."
"Just because I don't know who I am, doesn't mean I can't see what kind of person you are, Maggie. You're a person of quality. You're caring—look at all you're doing to help your friend, Julia." A splash of color stained Maggie's cheeks. "Why are you blushing?" he asked.
One hand went to her telltale cheek. "Well, I'm not doing all of this for Julia," she confessed with a coy smile.
"Does that mean you actually like me?" he asked in a deep, silky tone.
"I do, John—very much."
"I hope you still do when I tell you that I allowed you to bring me here—under false pretenses."
Maggie was instantly on her guard. The echo of fear and shadow of abduction rippled through her. "What do you mean?" she asked as her entire body tensed.
"Well, I've already agreed to let Julia hypnotize me. So, you see, I no longer need convincing—I just wanted to spend the afternoon with you," he told her in his most charming manner.
Maggie's body relaxed at once. A visible look of relief crossed her features. "Oh," she said with a breathy exhalation. Perhaps that was the reason he'd been so taciturn. "Is that all? I'd given up on trying to convince you anyway. I mean—that's great though. I'm glad to hear it." A worried expression replaced her previous one.
"Are you sure?" he asked upon seeing the change in her countenance. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied. She could hardly tell him that now that he had agreed to undergo hypnosis, she was afraid of what he might remember. He might have a family somewhere—somewhere else. He might be married. The possibilities came to her in a flood. "Nothing's wrong. You're doing the right thing. So, when?"
"This afternoon—after we tour the estate, of course. Dr. Hoffman will meet us at the Great House."
"So soon," Maggie said softly.
"I thought you'd be pleased," John said searching her face.
"I am," she said starting to sit up. "We should probably get going."
"No wait," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her back to the blanket. He cradled her with one arm around her shoulder, and stroked her hair with the other hand. "Whatever I find out about myself—about who I am and where I belong—there will always be a special place in my heart for you, Maggie."
She turned to face him. All at once, throwing caution to the ocean breeze, she sought his lips with hers and kissed him deeply. Passion sparked between them, and they allowed it to carry them away. Only later, after they'd returned to the car and headed back up toward the bluffs of the estate, did Maggie allow tentacles of worry to invade her thoughts.
Maggie carefully retraced the way they'd come heading back up the windy road to the main Collinsport road. From there, she turned onto the Collinwood drive and drove nearly half a mile through the woods to where the drive widened and branched in two directions. She pulled over and parked.
"The woods seem so inviting during the day, but once the sun sets it feels completely different," she said as they exited the car.
"Where to first?" he asked.
"Widows' Hill," she said. "It's this way through the woods. It's actually almost above the cove where we had lunch," she told him, "but when we emerge from the woods, we'll be at the far end of the cove above that rocky out-cropping."
When they reached the spot where according to local mythology, women waited for their husbands to return from sea, Maggie told John several of the tales associated with the place. He pronounced it too beautiful to have inspired such a grim reputation. They didn't linger long on the sad, treacherous precipice. Instead, they turned back toward the woods to visit the Old House.
As they made their way, John remembered that Maggie told him that she found the Old House unsettling. He began, "We don't have to visit the Old House if you'd rather not."
"No, it's fine," she said, though she folded her arms tightly across her chest. "We won't able to go in, of course—which is too bad really, because Barnabas has restored it to its original glory."
"Barnabas," he repeated absentmindedly.
"Yes," she said. As they walked on through the woods, she continued, "I'm sure you've heard him spoken of. He's quite an eccentric character. People in town are always remarking on it. Anyway, he's away at the moment and even if he wasn't, he's not the sort of person to welcome unexpected guests. He's quite formal. The only person who drops in on him is Julia. They're best friends, I guess you'd say."
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at him. His face was ashen. "John, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he told her without conviction.
"You look pale. Are you sure you're alright? Because we can head back to the car."
"I'm fine," he said decisively this time.
"We're almost there. It's just beyond that stand of trees." As they rounded the small cluster of trees, the Old House came into view. Maggie thought how odd it was that daylight transformed the woods from a dark, foreboding place to something more welcoming, yet it never did the same for the Old House. Even in full daylight, even on a remarkably sunny, warm afternoon, something cool and dark emanated from the mansion.
They stood at the edge of the clearing, looking at the house. Maggie clearly did not want to linger. "Cemetery next?" she asked.
"Lead on, Miss Evans," he said in faux formality.
She laughed and led them back into the woods. "You can decide for yourself which is more unwelcoming—the Old House or Eagle Hill cemetery."
She watched him discretely as they walked. He looked remarkably pale and one hand massaged his temple. They approached the cemetery from its far end. She had intended to show him some of the family graves as they made their way to the mausoleum. From there, they would circle back to where she'd parked the car and then drive the rest of the way to the Great House. But her plans took a detour.
They were halfway down the first row of headstones. Maggie was saying that most of the Collins family was buried there, but a few were interred in the mausoleum. She'd been so focused on looking at the headstones, that she initially didn't notice that John had abruptly stopped a few feet behind her.
John moaned aloud. His hands went to his temples. "Uhhh …" he moaned loudly in pain.
"John!" she cried, running toward him. "What's wrong?"
"My head," he eked out. He staggered a step or two toward her. He seemed to recover slightly. He drew a deep but ragged breath. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I can't go on. Please take me back to town."
"To town?" she asked, incredulous. "No way. You need a doctor."
He pulled himself to his full height and let his hands fall to his sides. "I just need to rest. I'll be fine. When I get to the Blue Whale, I'll call Dr. Hoffman and explain."
"There is no way I'm taking you back to the Blue Whale in this condition. You're coming back to the Great House with me. You need a doctor—and Julia is a doctor," she told him, brooking no opposition.
"Maggie, I …" he began. "Uhhh …" Another wave of pain swept over him. He squeezed his eyes shut and his face contorted. He held his head between his hands until the pain subsided.
"Do you think you can make it back to the car?" she asked, working hard to keep her panic at bay.
He nodded.
He opened his eyes as the pain abated. "I really don't want you to see me like this," he said, turning away from her gaze.
"Don't be silly," she said. "Do you think you can make it back to the car?" she asked again, though she had no idea what she would have done had he said no. She couldn't leave him there and even if she could, once she returned with the car, he would still need to walk as far as the drive. A fresh wave of worry washed over her.
"Yes," he answered in a weak voice. "I think so."
"Good. You only have to make it as far as the drive," she articulated her previous thoughts but framed in a positive tone. "Then I can go and get the car, and pick you up."
"I feel a little better already," he said. "I think I can make it back to the car."
"Here, put your arm around my shoulder." He did as he was told without argument. She put her arm around his waist, more for physical comfort than to support his weight. As she did, she could feel his skin through the thin knit of his shirt. If anything, she thought he might be running a fever, but surprisingly, he felt cool to the touch—unnaturally so.
As they made their way through the woods, he joked, "You know I could be faking this just to get close to you."
"I wouldn't put it past you," she replied lightly, though the way his grip tightened on her shoulder, she could tell the pain was very real and had returned.
The distance from the cemetery to the car was objectively not far, but it seemed so to Maggie, as a different kind of fear from that which attended traversing the woods at night, possessed her. The sun was shining and its rays peeked through the branches of the trees. The fear that Maggie experienced was not of the unknown creatures that stalked the woods at night, but of the unknown ailment afflicting the previously robust young man.
John clung to her, but his body didn't grow warm from the exertion. He continued to feel preternaturally cool. When at last they reached the car, Maggie opened the door and John slumped in. He stretched his long body out, extending his legs as far as the seat would permit. His head rolled back and his eyes closed. Maggie ran to the driver's side and got in. Her hand trembled slightly as she fumbled in the pocket of her dress for the key. She willed herself to be calm—to do things mechanically—put the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, drive.
She drove as fast as she could while still feeling safe and not jostling John too much. In a few minutes they were making the turn on to the drive that led to the front door of the Great House. Maggie parked at the end of the drive nearest the house. She helped John out of the car and up the short footpath to the front door.
Once there, Maggie opened the door and called out "Julia? Carolyn?" Carolyn, she guessed, would be out somewhere with Tony. "Julia?" she called again. What if Julia was at the Old House? Maggie tried to think logically. John told her that he was going to meet Julia here at the Great House later that afternoon. So that meant she was probably somewhere in the Great House or close by on the grounds.
John was now shivering with cold. "Do you think you can make it up the stairs?" she asked as they moved into the foyer proper. He nodded, but said nothing. His face seemed devoid of color and it seemed to Maggie that his lips were beginning to turn blue with cold. And yet, it was still a lovely, warm afternoon. It made no sense.
She positioned herself so that she could support him on one side, and he could use the banister for support on the other. Together they moved slowly up the stairs and from there down the hall that led to her room. She pushed open the door. With one hand still supporting John, she used the other to pull back the bedspread on her bed then helped him in. She drew the covers over him and said, "I have to go find Julia. I won't be long."
"Maggie," he began in a thin voice, but she stayed him with a finger to his lips. They were cold to the touch.
She kneeled down and pulled a storage case from underneath the bed. From it, she took out a thick comforter she used on especially cold nights. She covered him with it. Her heart ached for him. She didn't want to leave him, but she had to go. "I'll be back before you know it," she told him, in as close an approximation of normalcy as she could muster.
She ran down the hall to Julia's room and banged loudly on the door. "Julia! Are you there?" No response. She knocked again. Still nothing.
Maggie tried to think. Julia had not been in the drawing room. Perhaps she was in the library or the study and simply hadn't heard when Maggie called her name. She would try there first. Then what? she thought as she ran toward the main staircase.
Running one hand along the banister lest she trip and fall, she went directly to the library. Julia wasn't there. Likewise, the doctor was not in the study. "Julia?" she called as she went from room to room.
Maggie backtracked through the foyer to the kitchen and pantry. "Julia?" she called, panic setting in. How long will it take to search the entirety of the house and the grounds? Longer than John could afford to wait, she thought. Julia could be anywhere. It seemed likely though that if Julia were in the house, she would have heard Maggie by now.
Maggie ran to the front door and prepared to search the grounds, calling the doctor's name with each step she took. As she rounded the front walk toward the garden, she saw Julia coming toward her in long, purposeful strides. "Maggie? What is it? What's wrong?"
"Julia! Come quickly," Maggie said, already turning back toward the house.
Julia followed in her wake, trying to keep up with the young woman's quick steps. "What is it, Maggie?" she called.
"It's John!" Maggie replied over her shoulder. "Julia, he's sick—really sick." Maggie briefly relayed John's symptoms as they walked.
"Where is he?" Julia asked slightly panting from the pace, as they entered the house.
"He's in my room," Maggie said, already alighting the stairs.
Julia followed a few steps behind. "I'll get my bag and meet you there."
When Maggie returned to her room, John lay very still. His eyes were closed. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him and lightly brushed his hair to one side with her hand. Her fingers grazed his forehead—it was so cold.
He opened his eyes. "You came back," he said. "I thought maybe you found another date." He offered her a faint smile with his slightly blue lips.
"Not good odds of that happening on this isolated estate," she shot back.
Just then, Julia entered the room, with her familiar medical bag in hand. Maggie relinquished her place beside John, went to stand at the foot of the bed and watched Julia begin her examination of the patient.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to keep our appointment this afternoon, Dr. Hoffman," he quipped.
"I take it you're feeling better," she returned.
"Yes, in a way. The headaches are better."
"Headaches?" she asked. "You've had more than one."
"Yes. I had the first one yesterday," he said.
From her station at the foot of the bed, Maggie said, "You never said."
"I didn't want to cancel our date," he told her.
Julia shot Maggie a disapproving, 'I told you so' look, but she returned to her examination. While she checked his pulse she said, "Tell me about the headaches."
"They feel like my head is being ripped apart from the inside out," he said.
"Hmmm," Julia continued, "What were you doing when you experienced them?"
"Today," Maggie volunteered, "we were touring cemetery."
"And yesterday?" Julia asked John.
"I was taking a walk. I decided to return to the place where …" he searched for the right way to describe it, "… to the place of my first memory. I thought if I returned there, it might trigger something in my mind. I thought I might remember who I am. Instead, as I approached it, my head … the headache overwhelmed me and I had to return to town. I made it back to the Blue Whale and I felt better after I rested." He paused. While Julia rummaged in her bag, he continued, "That's when I called you, Dr. Hoffman."
Julia made a small dismissive sound in her throat and said, "You should have called me sooner." She produced her stethoscope from her bag. Fixing the earpieces, she told him, "Stay quiet and still." She pulled back the comforter and coverlet and then lifted his shirt. She moved the stethoscope around listening to his breath sounds, with a serious but noncommittal expression on her face.
Maggie paced away toward the window, both to give them some privacy and to expend some of the nervous energy animating her. There was something gnawing at her—a thought, a feeling desperate to get out. John's situation wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening—not like this.
A few moments later, Julia joined her. "He's very sick, Maggie."
"What's wrong with him, Julia?" Maggie asked in a strained, worried voice.
"I honestly don't know. His vital signs are weak, but it's the unexplained hypothermia that puzzles me most." Maggie turned back and looked at John. Julia went on, "We should take him to the hospital in Collinsport to run some tests."
"No, Julia," Maggie said in a tone heavy with foreboding. Her eyes seemed unfocused but never left John. She continued, "We have to get him to the west wing." She knew she said it, but the voice seemed to come from someone else.
"The west wing?" Julia was incredulous. Then she went on more forcefully, "Maggie, he could be dying. He needs medical attention."
Maggie persisted, "You just said you don't know what's wrong with him."
"Yes, but I think we need to run some tests to find out. What will taking him to the west wing accomplish? Except wasting precious time."
Maggie looked resolved, "It's more than just a feeling, Julia. I was led to the west wing for a reason and now here he is, the man I saw there—in a crisis—here in this house. I know the answer is there. It's just like Professor Stokes told me it would be …"
"Stokes!" Julia was indignant. "You consulted him?"
"He said the occult might yet play a role is explaining my dreams and I believe him. And I agree with you, we are wasting time. We need to get him there at once."
"I'm a woman of science, Maggie—and a doctor—his doctor," Julia said, though she was in fact leading the way to the west wing.
Maggie and John followed behind her. Maggie supported him as she had earlier with his arm around her shoulder and her arm around his waist, but he leaned more heavily on her than before. "Tell me there aren't a great many things about Collinwood beyond the explanation of science, Julia." Maggie retorted in a tight voice. "Everyone in town knows it—the Collins family does too."
By now, they had reached the door to the west wing that Maggie had fixed to open at will. Julia pushed it open and led the way to the storage room, which they had discovered had false walls. John and Maggie followed her in. John was too weak to stand, so Maggie helped make him comfortable sitting on one of the storage trunks.
"So, now what?" Julia asked in a testy tone.
Maggie went to the wall and knocked on it. She pulled away a trunk that was blocking her way. There was a dressmaker's dummy next to it. She moved that too. Then she noticed it—a fine seam seemed to partition the wall. She knocked hard on it and it gave a little. She turned back to Julia. "I'll be right back." She knelt in front of John, "I won't be long. I promise." Then she ran from the room toward the secret passage at the far end of the hall.
Once she was gone, Julia turned to John and said, "While she's gone, I think I should get you to the hospital."
"No, thank you, Dr. Hoffman. I think Maggie deserves to find her answers."
"At the cost of your life?" Julia asked sharply in response.
"I'm dying anyway," he said.
"You don't know that," was Julia's emphatic reply.
"I do. I'm growing cold from within, Dr. Hoffman, and my whole body feels attenuated somehow, as though every part of me is being stretched thin," he sounded resigned.
They sat in silence for a few minutes before they heard Maggie's quick footsteps in the hall. In a moment, she was back, lugging a battered, red toolbox. She carelessly dropped it on the floor, popped it open, and began rummaging through it. "I couldn't find a crowbar," she said thinking aloud, as well as answering the unspoken puzzlement of the others. She lifted the top compartment out of the toolbox to reveal the larger tools underneath. These, she pulled out one after another, tossing them aside until she found a large screwdriver. "This will have to do," she said.
"What are you going to do?" Julia asked.
But Maggie was already at the wall, jamming the screwdriver between the seams of the wall, trying to pry it loose. When that failed she began running it down the length of the seam. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. She ran the screwdriver all the way to the bottom of the wall. Nothing. Then she began running it up in the opposite direction. She stood on her tiptoes, extending the screwdriver above her head. Then she felt it.
She turned to Julia. "Help me push that trunk over here." Together they moved the trunk so that Maggie could climb up on it and reach the top of the wall. She jammed the screwdriver in again and worked it up and down.
"What is it?" Julia asked.
"I'm not sure," Maggie began. Just then they heard a soft click. The panel unlatched and gently swung open slightly to reveal itself to be a door to a chamber within.
Maggie climbed off of the trunk. Together, she and Julia pushed it aside. Maggie drew a deep breath then pulled the door open. She stepped inside. "No!"
Julia followed Maggie into the room. They took in the scene together. "I don't understand," Maggie said aloud. There at a table sat a man who could be John's twin.
"The I Ching," Julia said, observing the wands in front of him. The hexagram was familiar to her. She saw it daily when she went to check on Barnabas.
"Who is he? What does it mean, Julia?" Maggie asked.
"It means you were right. You were led here for a reason. This man is in a trance-state, Maggie."
"But what does it mean for John?"
"I'm not sure, Maggie. I wish I knew, but so much about the I Ching is a mystery to me." Julia looked around the room. Everything in it was from the late 19th century—the furnishings and accoutrements—perhaps the man as well. He certainly looked it, yet untouched by the passage of time. And she observed, the clothes were identical to the ones that John wore when he arrived at Windcliff.
Julia noticed an envelope on the mantle. She looked at it closely. Julia drew a sudden breath. "Quentin" it read in Barnabas's familiar handwriting. An old-fashioned broach lay beside it. She opened the note and read it silently.
"Maggie." John stood in the doorway. His skin was almost glowing. He was so pale; he was nearly translucent. But he seemed to have recovered enough strength to stand unsupported. All at once his silhouette seemed to vibrate. The translucence grew and the very edges of his being seemed to fade.
"Julia! What's happening to him?" Maggie cried.
"I don't know," Julia responded in wan voice.
"We have to help him!" Maggie said taking a step toward him. "John! Can you hear me?"
"Wait! Don't touch him." Julia restrained her younger friend with a firm grip on her arm.
"He's … he's fading." Maggie's eyes were wild with fear and confusion. "I don't understand how this can be happening."
Gradually the translucence around his silhouette enveloped him and John's physical being began to fade. "John! Speak to me," she called, still restrained from approaching or touching him.
"Maggie." It was his last word then he faded completely away.
"John. What happened to him, Julia?" Maggie asked, tears in her eyes.
Julia released her grip on Maggie's arm and turned her attention to John Doe's doppelganger still seated at the table, still in a deep trance. Only now did he move and speak. With an audible inhalation, his head rocked back suddenly, causing both women to gasp in surprise. Then just as suddenly, he fell forward. He slumped over and his head fell toward the table; his arms extended forward scattering the wands across the table, destroying the hexagram in the process.
"Julia, we have to help him." Maggie would not be restrained this time—having witnessed what happened to John. She went to the man and knelt beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?" He moaned.
Then Julia went to him, took his wrist, and assessed his pulse. "He has a strong pulse."
The man moaned again, and lifted his head. "Where am I?" he managed to ask in a parched, raspy voice.
"Collinwood," Maggie responded.
He turned his unfocused gaze fully to her. "Collinwood?"
"Yes—the west wing."
"Collinwood," he repeated as his mind began to make sense of his surroundings. The I Ching wands were strewn on the table in front of him—the hexagram of transformation no longer showing. Now he looked at her closely—his eyes finally beginning to focus, his mind now able to comprehend. The I Ching had worked—he felt different this time. It had worked at last. It was not a dream-state, as it was before. It was real this time—he felt it. It was real. He touched his arms—they were real. He ran his hand through his hair and smiled. It had worked.
"Rachel," he said, standing, and pulling Maggie up by her arms.
"No. I don't know anyone named Rachel. I'm Maggie—Maggie Evans." She wondered whether John was somehow in there too. If so, why didn't he recognize her?
An array of emotions crossed his face—disappointment, sadness, resignation, and finally, curiosity. "Maggie—you're Maggie Evans."
"Yes. Do you know me? Do you remember me?" Maggie's face was expectant.
"No … I'm not sure," he said, confused. Then he smiled at her. It was John's smile to be sure. "But I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Maggie. I'm Quentin—Quentin Collins."