(7)
(7)
At Collinwood, dinner was a tense affair. The entire family had gathered in the formal dining room, where more Collinses peered dyspeptically down at them from the dark paneled walls. Perhaps it was the oppressive atmosphere, but dinner conversation was desultory at best.
Seated between Roger and David, Sam kept his eyes on his plate and tried to pretend that he was invisible. So far, it seemed to be working; other than a single request that he pass the salt, no one had sought to engage him in conversation. Or maybe it was just that everyone had something else on their minds, tonight.
Whatever the reason, he couldn't help but notice the cool looks slanting between Carolyn and Dr. Hoffman. He wondered at their apparent animosity--Vicki hadn't mentioned any ill will between the two women. But it was plain to see in every strained smile, in the oh-so-polite way they addressed each other. He knew from reading her diary that Vicki was observant; how could she not have seen it?
Beside him, David fidgeted, earning himself a scowl of disapproval from his father. The boy scowled right back with what Sam thought was more bravado than genuine insolence, then relented and went back to toying listlessly with his mashed potatoes.
Sam rearranged the food on his own plate. The tension at the table was enough to spoil anyone's appetite, he decided, giving David a secret, sympathetic wink. The boy looked surprised--then grinned. As if all he'd needed was a little assurance that he wasn't alone, David turned back to his plate and began to eat, if not with gusto, then at least with more enthusiasm than he had shown before.
It was a relief when the meal was finally over.
Everyone retired to the drawing room for drinks, except Carolyn, who escorted David up to bed, and Sam, who escaped by pleading a headache. Feeling the need for some fresh air, he went out into the gardens. The night air was crisp and cold, with a freshening breeze that promised rain. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the relief of being alone, of being himself--in spirit if not in body.
He wandered some distance from the house and, discovering a marble bench tucked into a secluded curve of the hedge, sat down to rest. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the stars, scattered like flotsam across the black ocean of sky. A memory surfaced of the broad, star-filled skies over Elk Ridge and his father's callused hands resting on his shoulders as he named the constellations.
A wave of homesickness swept over him, so strong it threatened to pull him down into despair. Slowly, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his gaze away from the familiar stars. No matter how far he was from home, the stars would always be there, unchanging and yet full of mystery. He looked at the great black silhouette of the house, at the moment no less mysterious, and sighed. Reluctantly, he rose to go back inside. Voices, lowered in whispered conversation, made him hesitate.
One of the voices he immediately recognized as belonging to Carolyn; the other was masculine, but only vaguely familiar. A certain sultry quality in Carolyn's response hinted at the direction their conversation was taking--and started the heat rising up Sam's throat.
He was no prude, but his unique intellect had left him with a great deal of intellectual achievement and rather stunted social skills. Al loved to tease him about his presumed "innocence." Of course, compared to Al's vast and varied experience, Sam was innocent, but this was one time he was just as happy not to have the Observer around to remind him of it and comment on his "farm-boy blushes." Unwilling to embarrass himself further, he shrank deeper into his niche and pretended to be a statue.
An eternity crawled past, then he heard Carolyn's voice fade into the distance as she called her goodbyes to her companion and returned to the house. Sam released a breath he'd been unaware of holding, stepped from his hiding place--
--and nearly collided with the dark form which seemed to materialize out of the shadows.
With a startled yelp, Sam stumbled back, caught the low heel of his shoe on a crack in the paving stones, and would have fallen had it not been for the quick action of the other man, who caught Sam's arm, steadying him until he regained his balance. The move brought the figure fully into the moonlight, and Sam got his first real look at his rescuer.
It was as if the portrait in the great hall had come to life. Only the clothing was different; instead of eighteenth century finery, this version of Barnabas Collins wore a conservative black suit and shirt. Sort of the anti-Al, Sam thought with a faint smile.
Barnabas responded with a small smile of his own, barely lifting the corners of his mouth. Some of the wariness went out of his eyes, but his manner was diffident when he said, "You should not be out here all alone, Victoria. Particularly so soon after your...ordeal."
Not sure how to respond, Sam said, "Actually, I was just going back inside."
"I'll walk with you, then." Barnabas offered his arm.
Seeing no graceful way to decline such a gallant gesture, Sam found himself being escorted back to the house, his hand resting lightly on Barnabas' arm. With impeccable timing, Al chose that moment to make his appearance.
"My, my...Aren't we being proper ladies and gentlemen." He snickered.
Sam glared at him and mouthed "Shut up." Predictably, Al ignored him.
"I leave you alone for a few minutes..." The Observer shook his head in mock dismay. "And what do I find when I return? Geez, you look like you're practicing to march down the aisle together."
They entered the foyer with Al humming--off-key--the Wedding March.
Sam, who had perfect pitch, winced and Barnabas, thinking he had somehow caused "Victoria's" discomfort, murmured an apology. Shooting a quelling glance at the hologram, Sam said, "It's not you, Barnabas--I just have a slight headache."
"Then I'll say goodnight," Barnabas said, bowing slightly over his hand. Sam was beginning to see why Vicki was so taken with the man; his old-fashioned manner would no doubt be irresistible to a romantic like Vicki.
"Goodnight, Barnabas," he said, then gathered up Al with a look and retreated to the stairs. As they walked toward his room, Sam said, "So, tell me what you've got."
His request was met with silence. Embarrassed silence, if Sam was any judge. He studied his friend's shifty expression, his heart sinking. "Tell me you've got something."
What Al had was a lingering bad taste in his mouth, a pounding headache, and bad news he'd rather not inflict upon his friend. "Well you see, Sam--"
The physicist closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. In a tightly controlled voice, he said, "Just. Tell. Me. Now."
"Okay, okay!" Al raised his hands in surrender; the effect was somewhat spoiled by the handlink, flashing like Saturday night in a disco, gripped in one fist. "Calm down before you have an aneurysm or something."
Sam glared at him.
Al lowered his hands, then toyed sheepishly with the 'link. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go lie down for awhile first? You do kind of look like you have a headache and--"
He was forced to ignore the physicist's extremely rude response to that suggestion. "All right! As I was about to say, we're having a little problem with data retrieval, just a little glitch, nothing major. But we haven't quite got it straightened out yet. We will though. Soon." I hope, he didn't add aloud.
Sam stared at him. "Don't tell me you haven't found anything."
Al cleared his throat and looked at the handlink as if it might bite him at any moment. "Well, no, we've got...something..."
"And that would be--?"
The Observer shot him a 'you asked for it' look, frowned at the 'link, and began to read. "Barnabas Collins, born 1756 or '57, we're not sure, the records are a bit iffy on that one. Eldest child of Joshua and Naomi Collins. Two younger brothers, Jeremiah and Daniel... one sister, Sarah. According to a copy of the Collins family history that Ziggy dug up God only knows where, Barnabas was supposed to marry Josette duPres. But she eloped with Jeremiah, who was killed shortly afterward in a fire...no, firearms accident. Then Josette committed suicide by...throwing herself from Widow's Hill."
"Just what we needed, another unhappy spirit." Al rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, Ziggy."
Sam was staring at him as if he thought the Observer had lost his mind. "Why are you telling me all this? I don't need a history lesson, I need to know what I'm supposed to fix so I can Leap!"
"I'm telling you what we've got, Sam, " Al said. He gestured with the 'link. "And what we've got is information on Barnabas Collins. Or, more likely, his ancestor."
"What does Ziggy say?"
"Ziggy says that there's only one Barnabas. Ziggy says that Vicki time traveled to 1790 and found out something about Barnabas that she wasn't supposed to know. Ziggy says that she found out that Barnabas is a vampire."
Al grimaced and smacked the 'link with the flat of his hand. "Ziggy, not to put too fine a point on it, is nuts!"
Certain that the Observer was only indulging in letting off a little steam, (dealing with the parallel hybrid computer could be frustrating at times), Sam quelled him with a look. "What we have to ask ourselves now is what is it I'm supposed to change? Obviously, I have no intention of committing suicide, so if that's really why I'm here..."
Al started to speak, hesitated.
Sam pounced. "What is it? You know something you're not telling me."
"Just another one of Ziggy's lunatic theories."
"Spit it out. "
Reluctantly, Al said, "I don't know why I'm even telling you this."
"Because if you don't, I'm going to kill you?" suggested Sam.
"You can't." Al grinned smugly. "I'm a hologram, remember?"
"I'll find a way."
"Okay, just remember you asked for it." He sighed. "Ziggy thinks you may have already changed something just by being here--by taking Vicki's place."
The Observer shrugged. "Ziggy figures it has something to do with Vicki's alleged trip to the eighteenth century. Like maybe she saw something nobody wants her to remember."
Sam refrained from pointing out that Al didn't put any stock in Vicki's 'alleged trip,' but then neither did he. He nodded thoughtfully. "Whether it has anything to do with the eighteenth century or not, Ziggy may have a point. Since I have no memories of whatever it is that Vicki shouldn't remember, then by taking her place, I've changed history."
Al sensed an unspoken "but," and leaned closer. "What is it, Sam? All of a sudden, you don't look so good."
"It just occurred to me." Feeling dizzy, Sam leaned against the wall. "If that is why I'm here...How am I ever going to Leap? If Vicki comes back here, her memories will be intact."
He and Al looked at each other. In unison, they groaned. "Oh, boy!"
** ** ** ** **
(7)
At Collinwood, dinner was a tense affair. The entire family had gathered in the formal dining room, where more Collinses peered dyspeptically down at them from the dark paneled walls. Perhaps it was the oppressive atmosphere, but dinner conversation was desultory at best.
Seated between Roger and David, Sam kept his eyes on his plate and tried to pretend that he was invisible. So far, it seemed to be working; other than a single request that he pass the salt, no one had sought to engage him in conversation. Or maybe it was just that everyone had something else on their minds, tonight.
Whatever the reason, he couldn't help but notice the cool looks slanting between Carolyn and Dr. Hoffman. He wondered at their apparent animosity--Vicki hadn't mentioned any ill will between the two women. But it was plain to see in every strained smile, in the oh-so-polite way they addressed each other. He knew from reading her diary that Vicki was observant; how could she not have seen it?
Beside him, David fidgeted, earning himself a scowl of disapproval from his father. The boy scowled right back with what Sam thought was more bravado than genuine insolence, then relented and went back to toying listlessly with his mashed potatoes.
Sam rearranged the food on his own plate. The tension at the table was enough to spoil anyone's appetite, he decided, giving David a secret, sympathetic wink. The boy looked surprised--then grinned. As if all he'd needed was a little assurance that he wasn't alone, David turned back to his plate and began to eat, if not with gusto, then at least with more enthusiasm than he had shown before.
It was a relief when the meal was finally over.
Everyone retired to the drawing room for drinks, except Carolyn, who escorted David up to bed, and Sam, who escaped by pleading a headache. Feeling the need for some fresh air, he went out into the gardens. The night air was crisp and cold, with a freshening breeze that promised rain. Sam took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the relief of being alone, of being himself--in spirit if not in body.
He wandered some distance from the house and, discovering a marble bench tucked into a secluded curve of the hedge, sat down to rest. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the stars, scattered like flotsam across the black ocean of sky. A memory surfaced of the broad, star-filled skies over Elk Ridge and his father's callused hands resting on his shoulders as he named the constellations.
A wave of homesickness swept over him, so strong it threatened to pull him down into despair. Slowly, he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his gaze away from the familiar stars. No matter how far he was from home, the stars would always be there, unchanging and yet full of mystery. He looked at the great black silhouette of the house, at the moment no less mysterious, and sighed. Reluctantly, he rose to go back inside. Voices, lowered in whispered conversation, made him hesitate.
One of the voices he immediately recognized as belonging to Carolyn; the other was masculine, but only vaguely familiar. A certain sultry quality in Carolyn's response hinted at the direction their conversation was taking--and started the heat rising up Sam's throat.
He was no prude, but his unique intellect had left him with a great deal of intellectual achievement and rather stunted social skills. Al loved to tease him about his presumed "innocence." Of course, compared to Al's vast and varied experience, Sam was innocent, but this was one time he was just as happy not to have the Observer around to remind him of it and comment on his "farm-boy blushes." Unwilling to embarrass himself further, he shrank deeper into his niche and pretended to be a statue.
An eternity crawled past, then he heard Carolyn's voice fade into the distance as she called her goodbyes to her companion and returned to the house. Sam released a breath he'd been unaware of holding, stepped from his hiding place--
--and nearly collided with the dark form which seemed to materialize out of the shadows.
With a startled yelp, Sam stumbled back, caught the low heel of his shoe on a crack in the paving stones, and would have fallen had it not been for the quick action of the other man, who caught Sam's arm, steadying him until he regained his balance. The move brought the figure fully into the moonlight, and Sam got his first real look at his rescuer.
It was as if the portrait in the great hall had come to life. Only the clothing was different; instead of eighteenth century finery, this version of Barnabas Collins wore a conservative black suit and shirt. Sort of the anti-Al, Sam thought with a faint smile.
Barnabas responded with a small smile of his own, barely lifting the corners of his mouth. Some of the wariness went out of his eyes, but his manner was diffident when he said, "You should not be out here all alone, Victoria. Particularly so soon after your...ordeal."
Not sure how to respond, Sam said, "Actually, I was just going back inside."
"I'll walk with you, then." Barnabas offered his arm.
Seeing no graceful way to decline such a gallant gesture, Sam found himself being escorted back to the house, his hand resting lightly on Barnabas' arm. With impeccable timing, Al chose that moment to make his appearance.
"My, my...Aren't we being proper ladies and gentlemen." He snickered.
Sam glared at him and mouthed "Shut up." Predictably, Al ignored him.
"I leave you alone for a few minutes..." The Observer shook his head in mock dismay. "And what do I find when I return? Geez, you look like you're practicing to march down the aisle together."
They entered the foyer with Al humming--off-key--the Wedding March.
Sam, who had perfect pitch, winced and Barnabas, thinking he had somehow caused "Victoria's" discomfort, murmured an apology. Shooting a quelling glance at the hologram, Sam said, "It's not you, Barnabas--I just have a slight headache."
"Then I'll say goodnight," Barnabas said, bowing slightly over his hand. Sam was beginning to see why Vicki was so taken with the man; his old-fashioned manner would no doubt be irresistible to a romantic like Vicki.
"Goodnight, Barnabas," he said, then gathered up Al with a look and retreated to the stairs. As they walked toward his room, Sam said, "So, tell me what you've got."
His request was met with silence. Embarrassed silence, if Sam was any judge. He studied his friend's shifty expression, his heart sinking. "Tell me you've got something."
What Al had was a lingering bad taste in his mouth, a pounding headache, and bad news he'd rather not inflict upon his friend. "Well you see, Sam--"
The physicist closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. In a tightly controlled voice, he said, "Just. Tell. Me. Now."
"Okay, okay!" Al raised his hands in surrender; the effect was somewhat spoiled by the handlink, flashing like Saturday night in a disco, gripped in one fist. "Calm down before you have an aneurysm or something."
Sam glared at him.
Al lowered his hands, then toyed sheepishly with the 'link. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go lie down for awhile first? You do kind of look like you have a headache and--"
He was forced to ignore the physicist's extremely rude response to that suggestion. "All right! As I was about to say, we're having a little problem with data retrieval, just a little glitch, nothing major. But we haven't quite got it straightened out yet. We will though. Soon." I hope, he didn't add aloud.
Sam stared at him. "Don't tell me you haven't found anything."
Al cleared his throat and looked at the handlink as if it might bite him at any moment. "Well, no, we've got...something..."
"And that would be--?"
The Observer shot him a 'you asked for it' look, frowned at the 'link, and began to read. "Barnabas Collins, born 1756 or '57, we're not sure, the records are a bit iffy on that one. Eldest child of Joshua and Naomi Collins. Two younger brothers, Jeremiah and Daniel... one sister, Sarah. According to a copy of the Collins family history that Ziggy dug up God only knows where, Barnabas was supposed to marry Josette duPres. But she eloped with Jeremiah, who was killed shortly afterward in a fire...no, firearms accident. Then Josette committed suicide by...throwing herself from Widow's Hill."
"Just what we needed, another unhappy spirit." Al rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, Ziggy."
Sam was staring at him as if he thought the Observer had lost his mind. "Why are you telling me all this? I don't need a history lesson, I need to know what I'm supposed to fix so I can Leap!"
"I'm telling you what we've got, Sam, " Al said. He gestured with the 'link. "And what we've got is information on Barnabas Collins. Or, more likely, his ancestor."
"What does Ziggy say?"
"Ziggy says that there's only one Barnabas. Ziggy says that Vicki time traveled to 1790 and found out something about Barnabas that she wasn't supposed to know. Ziggy says that she found out that Barnabas is a vampire."
Al grimaced and smacked the 'link with the flat of his hand. "Ziggy, not to put too fine a point on it, is nuts!"
Certain that the Observer was only indulging in letting off a little steam, (dealing with the parallel hybrid computer could be frustrating at times), Sam quelled him with a look. "What we have to ask ourselves now is what is it I'm supposed to change? Obviously, I have no intention of committing suicide, so if that's really why I'm here..."
Al started to speak, hesitated.
Sam pounced. "What is it? You know something you're not telling me."
"Just another one of Ziggy's lunatic theories."
"Spit it out. "
Reluctantly, Al said, "I don't know why I'm even telling you this."
"Because if you don't, I'm going to kill you?" suggested Sam.
"You can't." Al grinned smugly. "I'm a hologram, remember?"
"I'll find a way."
"Okay, just remember you asked for it." He sighed. "Ziggy thinks you may have already changed something just by being here--by taking Vicki's place."
The Observer shrugged. "Ziggy figures it has something to do with Vicki's alleged trip to the eighteenth century. Like maybe she saw something nobody wants her to remember."
Sam refrained from pointing out that Al didn't put any stock in Vicki's 'alleged trip,' but then neither did he. He nodded thoughtfully. "Whether it has anything to do with the eighteenth century or not, Ziggy may have a point. Since I have no memories of whatever it is that Vicki shouldn't remember, then by taking her place, I've changed history."
Al sensed an unspoken "but," and leaned closer. "What is it, Sam? All of a sudden, you don't look so good."
"It just occurred to me." Feeling dizzy, Sam leaned against the wall. "If that is why I'm here...How am I ever going to Leap? If Vicki comes back here, her memories will be intact."
He and Al looked at each other. In unison, they groaned. "Oh, boy!"
** ** ** ** **