(12)


Although more reluctant than ever to leave Sam alone, Al had returned to the Project to consult with Verbena Beeks about the problem of Vicki's unwanted memories. At Sam's insistence, he had reiterated his promise to obtain her permission before any attempt would be made.

In the meantime, Sam returned to Collinwood. He wasn't planning to set foot outside its walls again until the deadline had passed. The new obituary indicated that Vicki died while visiting the other great house on the
estate, the Old House. Barnabas Collins' house.

Sam had no intentions of going anywhere near Barnabas Collins, and certainly not to his house. There were just too many unanswered questions about Barnabas--and the answers that they did have weren't exactly comforting. Sam hugged himself, feeling a sudden chill. The longer he was at Collinwood, the more certain it
seemed that Barnabas was involved somehow in Vicki's death.

Was Barnabas a murderer?

A feminine voice interrupted his morbid thoughts. "Hi, Vicki," Carolyn said cheerfully. As usual, she was dressed to kill in a tight little skirt and cashmere sweater. Only the silk scarf knotted around her neck seemed out
of place. She was carrying a tray. "Mrs. Johnson said you looked like you could use a cup of tea and some company."

Half-smiling, she added, "Personally, I'd recommend a good stiff drink, but--" She shrugged, and set the tray on the coffee table. "What's your poison, chamomile or orange spice?"

Something sparked in Sam's Swiss-cheesed memory. "Orange spice, please." He accepted the cup and inhaled deeply of the fragrant steam curling about his face. Orange spice. It brought back memories of home, memories of...But the elusive images were gone as swiftly as they had come. He sighed and refocused on the reality around him.

Carolyn was watching him with that strange blend of concern and disdain that he had found so unnerving before. There seemed to be a subtext here that continued to elude him. "Carolyn, is there something you want to tell me?"

The young woman tossed her blonde hair back, and shrugged. "I'm just worried about you. You've been holed up in this mausoleum since your return from the past. You're becoming a recluse! And that isn't good for you or for the people who care about you, Vicki."

She sipped reflectively at her tea, then pinned him with that intense stare. "You haven't even tried to see Barnabas."

"Well, I...I haven't been feeling quite myself," he hedged, and took refuge behind his teacup.

"Barnabas understands that, of course," Carolyn said. "And he would never do anything to make it harder for you, but...This distance you've put between you has to be hurting him."

Sam didn't know what to say. "Carolyn, I--"

She didn't let him finish. "Why don't you go over to the Old House this evening and talk to him?"

"Uhm, I don't know if that's such a good idea..." He toyed with his teaspoon. "I really don't feel so well."

"Have you seen Julia?" Suddenly, the only thing in Carolyn's expression was concern. "You mustn't take chances with your health, Vicki."

Sam finished his tea in a gulp. "If I don't feel better in the morning, I'll talk to her," he promised, rising. "For now, though, I think I'll just go and lie down for a little while."

He felt her gaze on him all the way to the door. His hand was on the knob when she called after him, "Vicki?"

He glanced back, eyebrows arched questioningly.

"Think about what I said, okay? About Barnabas?"

Sam gave her a noncommittal nod and make his escape. He went straight to Vicki's room and collapsed onto the bed. It had been a long day...

He hadn't been there long when, without warning, the door opened and Julia Hoffman strode into the room. Taken aback, Sam could only sit up and stare at her. She offered no apology, merely a stiff smile and the explanation, "Carolyn told me you weren't feeling well."

"I'm just a little tired," Sam said, getting to his feet. Pointedly, he added, " I didn't sleep very well last night."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"Uh-huh. I had the strangest dreams..."

"What kind of dreams, Victoria?" There was something like steel in her voice, now. Something hard and cold.

"Oh, you know how dreams are," he said. "Nonsense, mostly. I've already forgotten the details."

"I see." Her mouth was a thin, tight line. That she didn't believe him was obvious. "Well...Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. Thank you." Realizing he'd been a bit short, he added, "I think I'll just lie down for awhile."

She nodded brusquely and reached for the door, then paused. "Carolyn tells me you're planning to visit Barnabas, tonight."

That was news to Sam. "Actually, I wasn't," he said. "I told Carolyn I wasn't feeling up to visiting anyone."

Julia's frown deepened. "Well. I'll leave you to your nap."

Before Sam could think of a response, she had gone, closing the door behind her. Crossing swiftly to the door, he locked it behind her, then breathed a sigh of relief. Alone at last!

He threw himself on the bed, and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts in a whirl. Why was Carolyn so determined that he go to the Old House tonight? Was it simple matchmaking--or something more? And what was Julia Hoffman's role in all of this? What were they all hiding?

Sam groaned aloud, and muttered, "I feel like I'm stuck in a soap opera!"

"What's a 'soap opera'?"

He bolted upright and stared around him in shock at the source of the unexpected voice. "Sarah!"

The little girl stood at the foot of the bed. She held something in her hands, a small object that she held out to him.

Taking the offering, he saw that it was the music box, which he'd last seen at the old shack. In the aftermath of the apparently magical assault, he'd forgotten all about the music box. Now, he turned it over in his hands. This
was what had been used to put the spell on him, the spell meant for Vicki. "Do you know anything about this, Sarah? About what someone was trying to do with it?"

"You mean the spell? Yes."

"I almost fell off a cliff last night thanks to that spell," Sam muttered, darkly.

"I know," she said, again. "I brought Barnabas there to save you."

"You brought--" Sam gaped at her. "How did you know--?"

"I saw the magic circle and the music box, and I knew your strange friend wouldn't be able to help you. So I told Barnabas that Miss Winters needed him." She reached out and took his hand in both of hers. "Now you must help him."

Help Barnabas? Sam's eyes widened. "What do you mean? What kind of help--?"

"You must go to the Old House," she said. "You must help him."

"Sarah..." He hesitated, trying to think. "Sarah, I can't go to the Old House. It's dangerous right now--for me and for Miss Winters."

Tears filled her blue eyes. "But you must, Sam! You must!"

"Tell me what it is that you want for me to do, Sarah."

"You must go," she said plaintively, her voice taking on a eerie quality as she began to fade from sight. "You must..."

And then she was gone.

Sam stared at the empty space that had held the ghost, then dropped his gaze to the music box in his hand. Barnabas' gift--to Josette, to Vicki. It gleamed softly in the light. Of its own accord, his hand moved to lift the lid.
The sweet strains of the minuet spilled out. In it, he seemed to hear an echo of Sarah's pleas.

Help him...

It wasn't in his nature to ignore a cry for help. But if he went to the Old House, would he be placing himself--and by extension, Vicki--in danger?


* * * *