Sam gaped at his friend. "She what?"
"Sometime in the next two days, " Al reported grimly, "Victoria Winters walks over the edge of a cliff. Some fishermen find the body."
"Why would she do that?" Sam asked, shocked by the idea of the young woman's life cut so short.
Al fiddled with the handlink, then admitted, "We don't know."
"How am I supposed to do anything if I don't know what's going on?"
Al looked as frustrated as Sam felt. "Ziggy's in a snit over this, Sam. We're doing all we can."
Sitting back against the headboard, Sam eyed his friend suspiciously. "What aren't you telling me?"
"You have no idea what we're up against, Sam. These Collinses -- " Al waved his cigar for emphasis, words momentarily failing him. "Take that Barnabas guy."
From the depths of memory, Sam dredged up a mental image of the dark man from the previous night--Dr. Hoffman had called him 'Barnabas.' "What about him?"
Al looked distinctly uncomfortable., as if wishing he hadn't brought it up. "The only information we've been able to recover on him isn't exactly... current."
"What's 'current'? 1980?" When Al hesitated, Sam prompted, "1970?"
"1790."
"What?" Sam gaped at him. "That's insane!"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, " Al grumbled. "But try telling that to Ziggy. She's on the verge of an electronic nervous breakdown."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, and was momentarily thrown off by the unexpected amount and length of it. He shook off the momentary shock, and sighed. "So, what exactly is this information?"
The Observer punched up the data on the 'link. "The only records we can find for a Barnabas Collins who matches our guy indicate he was born in Collinsport sometime around 1760." Ignoring Sam's expression, he continued, "According to the family history, he left for England in 1790, never to be heard from again. Unless you believe Ziggy, who says he's back."
"Oh, come on. You're not seriously suggesting he's the same..."
Al shrugged. "He showed up out of nowhere. According to Ziggy, either he doesn't exist, or he's the same Barnabas Collins who lived here in 1790."
"There has to be something," Sam protested. "Everyone leaves an information trail--driver's license, Social Security number, credit cards..."
"Not our guy."
Not knowing what to make of it, Sam said, "Forget Barnabas for the moment. What about Victoria? Have you talked to her?"
Al pretended to study the flashing lights of the link. "We, uh, had to sedate her."
Seeing Sam's startled expression, Al said, "It can be quite a shock to wake up in somebody else's body, as you should know. She was hysterical, babbling about witches and vampires. We were afraid she would hurt herself." Or, more to the point, hurt Sam's body.
"How is she now?"
"Verbena is with her." Verbena Beeks was the Project psychiatrist. "She says we've got to go easy with this one." Al toyed with his cigar. "Victoria's emotional state is very fragile."
Sam nodded, understanding that the Visitor's well-being took precedence over information gathering. Suddenly claustrophobic, he headed for the bedroom door. After all, he wasn't going to accomplish much anything by hiding out in Victoria's room, no matter how tempting that might be.
Al conjured up a floor plan from somewhere and guided him to the main staircase. "Wow," Al murmured, with an impressed whistle. "This place is huge, Sam. Over fifty rooms, though most of them probably haven't seen use in the last couple of decades..." His voice trailed off.
"Al?" Sam looked up to see what had distracted the Observer, and found himself staring at a vaguely familiar-looking face. "Is that--?"
"Barnabas Collins." Al shook his head. "But why is he dressed like something out of the eighteenth century?"
Not expecting an answer, he was startled when the handlink beeped at him. "Ziggy says the painting was done over 200 years ago...and that it's the same man who lives here now." Irritably, he slapped the device. "That's crazy."
"Unless Barnabas is extremely well-preserved for his age, I agree," Sam said drolly.
"Ziggy says, or unless he's a...vam?" Al thumped the side of the handlink with the flat of his hand. "Oh. Vampire." He did a classic double-take and glowered at the 'link. "Vampire?"
"Calm down," Sam said, recognizing the panicked look in his friend's dark eyes. "I'm sure it's just a glitch. Maybe you should check the data, yourself."
"Damn right I will!" Al assured him. He gave the handlink another shake, as if trying to shake some sense into it. "Gooshie--" He keyed open the Door and disappeared through it, still yelling at the programmer and the computer with equal ire.
Watching Al vanish like a ghost, sent a shiver down Sam's spine. He shook himself, wondering at his reaction. After all these years, he should be used to Al's disappearing act. So why had it affected him so strangely this time? Maybe he was letting his gothic surrounding get to him, he decided, turning a slow circle to take in the great, echoing hall with its towering ceilings and marble floors. If he weren't careful, he could end up as bad as Al, whistling in graveyards to keep the spooks away.
But he didn't fight the impulse that sent him back up the stairs and down the hall toward his room.