(14)


Common sense told him he should've stayed at Collinwood, but Sam's conscience wouldn't let him rest until he was knocking on the front door of the Old House. The rising wind tugged at his hair, and he wrapped his anorak more snugly about himself. Shivering, he cast a leery eye skyward. The storm hovered just off shore; ominous lead gray clouds obscured the setting sun.

Just as Sam was about to give up, the door creaked open a crack and an unkempt face peered out at him, eyes widening with astonishment as their owner saw who the visitor was. "Miss Winters? What're you doing here?"

"I need to see Barnabas," Sam said quietly.

Surprise gave way to apprehension, apparent in the young man's darting eyes and suddenly dry lips. He licked them before speaking. "Uh, well...y'see, Barnabas, he...uh..."

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked, beginning to feel a sense of relief. Maybe he was off the hook, after all. "Is Barnabas out? Or busy...?"

For some reason, the young man--who, Sam suddenly realized, must be Barnabas' servant Willie--glanced at the darkening sky. He swallowed audibly, then nodded unhappily. "Yeah, he's here. Come on in." He stepped back, opening the door wide so Sam could enter. "I'll tell him you're here."

As Sam crossed over the threshold, it began to rain.

Willie directed him to the drawing room, a large, elegantly appointed room much like those at Collinwood. "You wait here, Miss Winters. I'll go and tell Barnabas you're here."
As Willie scurried out, the Door appeared and Al barreled through, almost before it had completely opened. The two men strode right through one another, Al doing a double-take. He shook off his surprise, spotted Sam, and yelled, "What are you doing? You were supposed to stay at Collinwood!"

"Don't worry," Sam said, reasonably. "I'll go straight back and promise I won't set foot out of Vicki's room until after tomorrow night."

"Forget tomorrow night!" Al growled, shaking his cigar at Sam. "History's changed again--Vicki dies tonight."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right." Al scowled at him. "And since we still don't know exactly how she dies this time, the smartest thing for you to do would be to get out of here, now."

"I can't," Sam said, miserably. "There's something I have to do first."

"What?"

Sam gave him a sheepish shrug. "I wish I knew."

"Sam, what are you talking about?" Al demanded, impatiently. "If you don't know--"

Before Sam could even begin to explain, the drawing room doors opened and Barnabas Collins strode into the room. Though surely forewarned by his servant, he still seemed surprised by his visitor. "Victoria...How good to see you. May I offer you some refreshment, tea perhaps?"

"No, thanks." Sam shifted nervously, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you...to thank you again for what you did. If you hadn't been there to pull me back from the edge..."

"I am, of course, happy to have been of service. I am merely grateful that I was there in time." He studied Sam closely. "Have you any idea what you were doing at Widow's Hill?"

"Well..." Sam looked uncomfortably at his friend, then back at Barnabas. "I may have...uh, been under some sort of, uh, spell."

Al yelped. "Sam, have you lost your mind? What are you telling him that for?"

Shooting the agitated Observer a quelling glance, Sam continued, "I saw the...whatever you call it, the workings of the spell." His hands described a large circle in the air. "Sarah showed me."

"Sam!" Al was near apoplexy with astonishment.

"Sarah." There was no mistaking the pain in Barnabas' voice. "Sweet Sarah..."

"She told me I should come here, this evening," Sam said, filling in the Observer even as he spoke to Barnabas. "I think...I think she wanted me to talk to you."

Barnabas' expression was guarded. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't really know," Sam admitted. "She's worried about you, Barnabas. Maybe you can tell me why."

The other man turned away. "Sarah...seems to be very protective of those of us who dwell at Collinwood. It is perhaps not surprising. We are the only family she has left to her."

In as far as he was willing to accept any theory pertaining to ghosts, Sam was willing to accept this one. "Okay, but why would Sarah believe that you are in danger?"

Startled, Barnabas turned back to face him. "Danger? Is that why you came here, Victoria? To...protect me?"

The handlink squealed for attention. Al glanced at the screen, then reported, "Sam, whatever you're doing....Ziggy says the odds are now 72% that both Vicki and Barnabas survive the night."

"'Both'?" Forgetting himself for a moment, he directed the question directly to Al. "What are you talking about?"

Confused, Barnabas said, "Victoria, what--?"

Al spoke over him. "Uh, well, it seems that Vicki's wasn't the only death," he said sheepishly. "Only we didn't connect it with Barnabas before. A body was found at Widow's Hill, burnt beyond recognition. Since Ziggy is unable to find any reference to Barnabas Collins after that date, it seems likely that the body is his."

"Now you tell me...," muttered Sam, then realized that Barnabas was staring at him. "Uh, just thinking out loud. I sometimes do that when I'm worried."

"About...me?"

Sam wasn't sure what he heard in that soft question: a trace of hope, perhaps, certainly fear. Before he could formulate a reply, Barnabas added, "Have you...remembered?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "I don't remember anything."

The handlink issued an eardrum piercing squeal. Al reported, "Sam, keep going-- the odds are still improving!"

Sam fumbled for the right words. "Barnabas, I...I just want you to know...how I, uh, feel about you."

He shot an imploring glance at the Observer, who shrugged. "She's still nuts about him, crazy as that sounds, even knowing that he's a, uh, you know what."

Sam didn't believe for one moment that "you know whats" existed, much less that the man standing before him was one, so he ignored that part of his friend's answer. Vicki loved this man, and it was up to Sam to tell him so. It had gotten easier, over the course of many Leaps, this rite of speaking for strangers, even these most intimate of words. He looked deep into Vicki's heart, and let her speak through him. "Barnabas, I lov -- "

But the words were drowned out by another voice, a feminine fury that rose to an angry wail. Shouting to make himself heard above the din, Al said, "It's happening again!"

In a blast of icy wind, the ghost appeared, her long blonde hair streaming about her and pure malice gleaming in her eyes. From her parted lips issued the banshee's wail.

Barnabas thrust himself between Sam and the apparition. "Angelique." The name was a curse, spat out as if it tasted foul. "I will not let you harm her!"

The spirit laughed. "Ah, mon amour....Clinging still to this hopeless fantasy of a happily ever after? Such can never be yours, Barnabas. Not with her!"

Al stepped in front of Sam, drawing his attention. "Sam, tell her, it, whateverthehellitis...that it doesn't matter. Tell her nothing she does will change the way you feel."

Obediently, Sam, striving to sound sincere, parroted, "It's no use, Angelique. Nothing you do will change how I feel."

"Good, Sam. Now--"

"Silly chit," the apparition sneered. "Your foolish emotions will do you little good if you are dead and decaying in your grave!"

"No!" Barnabas shouted, lunging at the ghost. His grasping fingers passed easily through her insubstantial throat, and she laughed at his impotent fury. "Damn you, witch! This time you shall not prevail."

"There will be another time, my love." Again, her malevolent laughter rose. "Do we not have all of eternity, you and I?"

The ghost wind became a swirling, destructive maelstrom, tearing at their hair and clothing, sweeping ornaments from the tables, whipping the flames in the fireplace into a frenzy. Angelique's laughter rose with it, rode it, spurring it onward to greater fury....

And, just as suddenly, it ceased. The ethereal storm was gone, and with it, the witch, leaving behind shattered bric-a-brac and three stunned witnesses. Al broke the eerie silence, with a strained attempt at humor. "And I thought my ex-wives were bad..."

Sam ignored him. Straightening his hair as best he could, he set himself to rights, then called gently, "Barnabas?"

A long moment passed before Barnabas turned. His shoulders were rigid beneath the dark suit coat, his finely carved features seemed wrought of stone. That faint glimmer of hope was gone, leaving his eyes dark and fathomless, like twin wells of eternity. He didn't speak.

"You don't have to explain," Sam said quickly, with a furtive glance at Al, who nodded. He was on the right track, again. "I don't want you to. It doesn't matter, now. Nothing matters except what we feel."

And now, finally, Barnabas spoke. "Then tell me, Victoria," he said softly. "What do you feel?"

"Tell him, Sam," Al urged quietly. "Ziggy thinks it's what you're here for."

Sam took a deep breath, reached for that part of him that was, at this moment, Vicki, and said. "I love you."

Distantly, he was aware of Al...saying something encouraging, happily reporting the changed history...but the words were suddenly meaningless, lost in the electric hum building in his brain. He closed his eyes, felt a gentle hand caress his cheek...

...and the blue-white glory of the Leap engulfed him, swept him up...

And he was gone.


* * * *