Part Two: Barnabas Collins
When you lose control
And you have no soul
It's tragedy...
--THE BEE GEES (Tragedy)
(1)
For some reason, the lightning flash of transition seemed almost painful as he Leaped...
Sam opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Victoria Winters, his hand cupping her cheek, his lips inches from hers. He had Leaped...but he hadn't left Collinwood. Fortunately, it seemed as if most of his memory of the previous Leap was still intact.
The woman before him swayed unsteadily on her feet. Reacting instinctively, Sam caught her before she could fall. She clung to him, her breath coming too fast and her heart racing. It took him a second to realize that he could actually hear it, her heartbeat resounding like thunder in his ears. How--?
"Barnabas?" Her brow furrowing in confusion, she peered up at him. "How did I--? What were we--?"
"It's all right," he said, keeping his voice low and reassuring. "You're all right."
"Am I? I feel..." She let her voice trail away as she stepped back from him and looked around as if she had no idea how she had gotten to the Old House--which, of course, she hadn't. She rubbed her forehead. "I think I have a headache."
"Let's get you back to Collinwood," Sam said, taking her arm and guiding her gently toward the door. She still seemed a bit unsteady on her feet. "I'm sure you'll feel better after a good night's sleep."
Victoria nodded dubiously, as if she doubted the cure would be so simple. "You're probably right. I should--Sleep sounds like a very good idea, right now. I feel...Maybe I should ask Willie to escort me home."
Sam started to say he would walk her back to Collinwood himself, when he felt a wave of weakness sweep through his body. He reached out and braced himself against the nearby wall until the sensation passed. After a moment, he conceded, "Maybe that would be best. Willie!"
The servant appeared so quickly Sam had a sneaking suspicion Willie had been lurking just around a handy corner. Eavesdropping? Or something more? Well, he would deal with that later. For now, his main concern was getting Vicki home safely. "Willie, I want you to escort Ms. Winters back to Collinwood."
"Sure thing, Barnabas." The rangy little man looked oddly relieved. "I'll do that right away. Don't you worry none, Miss Winters," he added to Vicki, "Ol' Willie Boy'll make sure you get home all right."
"Thank you, Willie." She smiled at him, then turned back to Sam. "Good night, Barnabas."
"Good night," Sam said. He walked with them as far as the front steps, and stood watching as they moved off into the darkness. As he turned to go back inside, another wave of dizziness assaulted him and he paused, holding onto the door frame for support.
"Sam!" It was Al, a thick wool scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, along with a string of...garlic?
Straightening, Sam stared at his friend. His eyes weren't deceiving him; the Observer had an entire string of whole garlic bulbs dangling around his neck. There seemed to be an unusually religious motif to his outfit as well: crosses were attached to both lapels, fighting for space with the scarf and still more garlic pinned to the cloth. For once Sam was glad his friend wasn't physically present; no doubt Al smelled quite pungent.
For some reason, it made Sam uncomfortable to look directly at those crosses for more than a few seconds at a time. His skin crawled and his stomach clenched; he had to fight an instinctive urge to retreat. Of course, Al's ensembles frequently produced similar reactions, but...
Looking away, he said, "Do you mind telling me what prompted this particular fashion statement?"
Instead of a direct answer, Al shook his cigar and said, "I hate this place, Sam. It's spook central! We've had to deal with a time traveling governess, ghosts, and a vampire! I don't even want to know what this place is going to throw at us, next."
Sam's stomach clenched. He recalled that Ziggy had been fixated on the idea, but... "Barnabas actually thinks he's a vampire?"
"He's not the only one." Al cleared his throat. "I told you there was something weird about him."
Sam didn't answer right away. He was distracted by a sudden new sensation, akin to hunger, but far stronger than any hunger pangs he'd ever known. Maybe that earlier spasm hadn't been caused by anxiety, after all.
"Sam, are you okay?" Al asked, suddenly concerned. "You don't look so good."
"I don't feel so good, " Sam admitted. He winced, as the strange sensations intensified. "In fact, I feel...strange."
He began to tremble. A cold, greasy sweat broke out on his brow. "I don't know what it is," he said through gritted teeth. The only explanation that came into this spinning mind was that these were the symptoms of some kind of withdrawal. Was Barnabas an addict?
"Sam, don't you dare do this to me!" Al said fiercely. "Don't do this..."
He tried unsuccessfully to grab his friend as Sam doubled over, the expression on his face enough to make Al cry out in sympathy. Helpless, he watched as the pain drove Sam to his knees. After an eternity, Sam looked up, his face haggard. "I think...I'm all right, now."
He was startled when Al backed away from him, dark eyes widening in shock. "Al? What's wrong?"
"Y-your eyes,'" Al stammered, staring at him with wild eyes of his own. "And your teeth..."
His teeth? Sam felt his teeth with his tongue. His upper canines were unnaturally long and, as he discovered the hard way, sharp. "Ouch!"
"Just don't get any funny ideas," Al warned, shielding his neck with both hands. The handlink cast odd shifting shadows on his face. "My jugular is off limits!"
"What're you worried about? You're a hologram."
"Oh. Yeah." Al relaxed visibly. "And as long as he's in your body, our friend Barnabas doesn't have fangs..."
He huffed a sigh of relief. "Well. That's a load off my mind."
Of course, it didn't do Sam any good. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to run screaming into the night. A vampire? He couldn't be a vampire. Vampires were myths, they didn't exist.
But the hunger twisting in his gut said otherwise.
Clinging to his sanity with both hands and in tenuous control of himself once more, Sam looked at his friend. "Al?" His voice was ragged. "I don't think I can do this."
"Of course you can, Sam," the Observer said loyally. "You're not him, you can control it."
"How can you be so sure?" There was despair in Sam's eyes, along with a plea for Al to convince him he was wrong. "You don't know what it feels like. If you were physically here, I--"
He shuddered. "I don't want to think about what I might do."
All this supernatural stuff made Al's skin crawl, but he'd be damned if he'd let his best friend face it alone. Even if it meant confronting ghoulies and ghastlies and every damn thing that went bump in the night. He said firmly,
"Nothing happened, Sam. Nothing's gonna happen. You'll be fine."
"I hope you're right," Sam said, unconvinced. He was still shaking.
"Of course I'm right." Al sneaked a peek at the handlink. "But, uh, might be a good idea if you didn't stray too far from home."
Sam didn't ask what prompted the suggestion; it sounded like a good one, at least until he'd gotten over the urge to sink his teeth into somebody's jugular. Not that he'd ever really do that of course.
Not really.
He was almost positive.
In silence, they walked into the house. Al's attention was riveted to the handlink, and Sam's mind wouldn't let go of the notion that he was...a vampire.
A vampire.
The man who'd dreamed of traveling through time and made it happen, simply couldn't get his imagination around the idea of vampires. As a scientist, he'd trained his mind to see things logically, rationally. Things like ghosts and vampires just weren't in the equations.
Vampires..
He wondered briefly if there was time for a small nervous breakdown, and wandered into the drawing room, Al at his heels.
Sam clenched his fists; firelight glinted off the onyx ring on one finger. He stared at it distractedly, still trying to come to grips with the situation. Al said soothingly, "Just keep reminding yourself that it's not really you, Sam.
You'll handle this."
"What if I can't?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "What if I can't control it? What if I...hurt...somebody?"
"You won't, Sam. You--"
Al's voice broke as his friend doubled over, clutching at the nearest chair for support. "Sam?"
"Oh, God--" It was a genuine prayer. As the hunger sank its razor claws into him again, Sam clutched one arm across his stomach as if to contain the agony twisting inside him. With the other, he clung to the back of the chair; it was all that was keeping him on his feet.
Al rushed to his side, but he was only a hologram here, unable to affect anything around him. He stabbed uselessly at the flickering handlink. "Dammit, Ziggy, do something. Help him."
Oblivious to everything but the hunger writhing inside him, searing him, Sam crumpled to the floor, his fingernails ripping jagged furrows in the chair's upholstery as he fell. Red mist clouded his spinning mind, obscuring thought.
A new instinct rose up in him, a dark instinct that demanded he feed the beast within him--with blood.
He fought the desire, the blazing need coursing through him. Fought the instinct, the urge to hunt... He shook himself, hands clenching in the ruins of the tapestry cushion. This was insane, he was insane--he must be. This couldn't be happening to him; he was not a vampire.
But there it was again, just on the cusp of hearing, a tantalizing sound...
Sam's head snapped up, searching. Like a distant drumbeat, the sound was a steady rhythm--lub-dub, lub-dub, the vibrant double beat of a human heart.
Unconsciously, he tipped his head back to scent the air. There was something... Something close by. Warm. Vital. Beckoning him. He wanted it. He needed it, more than he had ever needed anything in his entire life.
He went to find it.
When you lose control
And you have no soul
It's tragedy...
--THE BEE GEES (Tragedy)
(1)
For some reason, the lightning flash of transition seemed almost painful as he Leaped...
Sam opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Victoria Winters, his hand cupping her cheek, his lips inches from hers. He had Leaped...but he hadn't left Collinwood. Fortunately, it seemed as if most of his memory of the previous Leap was still intact.
The woman before him swayed unsteadily on her feet. Reacting instinctively, Sam caught her before she could fall. She clung to him, her breath coming too fast and her heart racing. It took him a second to realize that he could actually hear it, her heartbeat resounding like thunder in his ears. How--?
"Barnabas?" Her brow furrowing in confusion, she peered up at him. "How did I--? What were we--?"
"It's all right," he said, keeping his voice low and reassuring. "You're all right."
"Am I? I feel..." She let her voice trail away as she stepped back from him and looked around as if she had no idea how she had gotten to the Old House--which, of course, she hadn't. She rubbed her forehead. "I think I have a headache."
"Let's get you back to Collinwood," Sam said, taking her arm and guiding her gently toward the door. She still seemed a bit unsteady on her feet. "I'm sure you'll feel better after a good night's sleep."
Victoria nodded dubiously, as if she doubted the cure would be so simple. "You're probably right. I should--Sleep sounds like a very good idea, right now. I feel...Maybe I should ask Willie to escort me home."
Sam started to say he would walk her back to Collinwood himself, when he felt a wave of weakness sweep through his body. He reached out and braced himself against the nearby wall until the sensation passed. After a moment, he conceded, "Maybe that would be best. Willie!"
The servant appeared so quickly Sam had a sneaking suspicion Willie had been lurking just around a handy corner. Eavesdropping? Or something more? Well, he would deal with that later. For now, his main concern was getting Vicki home safely. "Willie, I want you to escort Ms. Winters back to Collinwood."
"Sure thing, Barnabas." The rangy little man looked oddly relieved. "I'll do that right away. Don't you worry none, Miss Winters," he added to Vicki, "Ol' Willie Boy'll make sure you get home all right."
"Thank you, Willie." She smiled at him, then turned back to Sam. "Good night, Barnabas."
"Good night," Sam said. He walked with them as far as the front steps, and stood watching as they moved off into the darkness. As he turned to go back inside, another wave of dizziness assaulted him and he paused, holding onto the door frame for support.
"Sam!" It was Al, a thick wool scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, along with a string of...garlic?
Straightening, Sam stared at his friend. His eyes weren't deceiving him; the Observer had an entire string of whole garlic bulbs dangling around his neck. There seemed to be an unusually religious motif to his outfit as well: crosses were attached to both lapels, fighting for space with the scarf and still more garlic pinned to the cloth. For once Sam was glad his friend wasn't physically present; no doubt Al smelled quite pungent.
For some reason, it made Sam uncomfortable to look directly at those crosses for more than a few seconds at a time. His skin crawled and his stomach clenched; he had to fight an instinctive urge to retreat. Of course, Al's ensembles frequently produced similar reactions, but...
Looking away, he said, "Do you mind telling me what prompted this particular fashion statement?"
Instead of a direct answer, Al shook his cigar and said, "I hate this place, Sam. It's spook central! We've had to deal with a time traveling governess, ghosts, and a vampire! I don't even want to know what this place is going to throw at us, next."
Sam's stomach clenched. He recalled that Ziggy had been fixated on the idea, but... "Barnabas actually thinks he's a vampire?"
"He's not the only one." Al cleared his throat. "I told you there was something weird about him."
Sam didn't answer right away. He was distracted by a sudden new sensation, akin to hunger, but far stronger than any hunger pangs he'd ever known. Maybe that earlier spasm hadn't been caused by anxiety, after all.
"Sam, are you okay?" Al asked, suddenly concerned. "You don't look so good."
"I don't feel so good, " Sam admitted. He winced, as the strange sensations intensified. "In fact, I feel...strange."
He began to tremble. A cold, greasy sweat broke out on his brow. "I don't know what it is," he said through gritted teeth. The only explanation that came into this spinning mind was that these were the symptoms of some kind of withdrawal. Was Barnabas an addict?
"Sam, don't you dare do this to me!" Al said fiercely. "Don't do this..."
He tried unsuccessfully to grab his friend as Sam doubled over, the expression on his face enough to make Al cry out in sympathy. Helpless, he watched as the pain drove Sam to his knees. After an eternity, Sam looked up, his face haggard. "I think...I'm all right, now."
He was startled when Al backed away from him, dark eyes widening in shock. "Al? What's wrong?"
"Y-your eyes,'" Al stammered, staring at him with wild eyes of his own. "And your teeth..."
His teeth? Sam felt his teeth with his tongue. His upper canines were unnaturally long and, as he discovered the hard way, sharp. "Ouch!"
"Just don't get any funny ideas," Al warned, shielding his neck with both hands. The handlink cast odd shifting shadows on his face. "My jugular is off limits!"
"What're you worried about? You're a hologram."
"Oh. Yeah." Al relaxed visibly. "And as long as he's in your body, our friend Barnabas doesn't have fangs..."
He huffed a sigh of relief. "Well. That's a load off my mind."
Of course, it didn't do Sam any good. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to run screaming into the night. A vampire? He couldn't be a vampire. Vampires were myths, they didn't exist.
But the hunger twisting in his gut said otherwise.
Clinging to his sanity with both hands and in tenuous control of himself once more, Sam looked at his friend. "Al?" His voice was ragged. "I don't think I can do this."
"Of course you can, Sam," the Observer said loyally. "You're not him, you can control it."
"How can you be so sure?" There was despair in Sam's eyes, along with a plea for Al to convince him he was wrong. "You don't know what it feels like. If you were physically here, I--"
He shuddered. "I don't want to think about what I might do."
All this supernatural stuff made Al's skin crawl, but he'd be damned if he'd let his best friend face it alone. Even if it meant confronting ghoulies and ghastlies and every damn thing that went bump in the night. He said firmly,
"Nothing happened, Sam. Nothing's gonna happen. You'll be fine."
"I hope you're right," Sam said, unconvinced. He was still shaking.
"Of course I'm right." Al sneaked a peek at the handlink. "But, uh, might be a good idea if you didn't stray too far from home."
Sam didn't ask what prompted the suggestion; it sounded like a good one, at least until he'd gotten over the urge to sink his teeth into somebody's jugular. Not that he'd ever really do that of course.
Not really.
He was almost positive.
In silence, they walked into the house. Al's attention was riveted to the handlink, and Sam's mind wouldn't let go of the notion that he was...a vampire.
A vampire.
The man who'd dreamed of traveling through time and made it happen, simply couldn't get his imagination around the idea of vampires. As a scientist, he'd trained his mind to see things logically, rationally. Things like ghosts and vampires just weren't in the equations.
Vampires..
He wondered briefly if there was time for a small nervous breakdown, and wandered into the drawing room, Al at his heels.
Sam clenched his fists; firelight glinted off the onyx ring on one finger. He stared at it distractedly, still trying to come to grips with the situation. Al said soothingly, "Just keep reminding yourself that it's not really you, Sam.
You'll handle this."
"What if I can't?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "What if I can't control it? What if I...hurt...somebody?"
"You won't, Sam. You--"
Al's voice broke as his friend doubled over, clutching at the nearest chair for support. "Sam?"
"Oh, God--" It was a genuine prayer. As the hunger sank its razor claws into him again, Sam clutched one arm across his stomach as if to contain the agony twisting inside him. With the other, he clung to the back of the chair; it was all that was keeping him on his feet.
Al rushed to his side, but he was only a hologram here, unable to affect anything around him. He stabbed uselessly at the flickering handlink. "Dammit, Ziggy, do something. Help him."
Oblivious to everything but the hunger writhing inside him, searing him, Sam crumpled to the floor, his fingernails ripping jagged furrows in the chair's upholstery as he fell. Red mist clouded his spinning mind, obscuring thought.
A new instinct rose up in him, a dark instinct that demanded he feed the beast within him--with blood.
He fought the desire, the blazing need coursing through him. Fought the instinct, the urge to hunt... He shook himself, hands clenching in the ruins of the tapestry cushion. This was insane, he was insane--he must be. This couldn't be happening to him; he was not a vampire.
But there it was again, just on the cusp of hearing, a tantalizing sound...
Sam's head snapped up, searching. Like a distant drumbeat, the sound was a steady rhythm--lub-dub, lub-dub, the vibrant double beat of a human heart.
Unconsciously, he tipped his head back to scent the air. There was something... Something close by. Warm. Vital. Beckoning him. He wanted it. He needed it, more than he had ever needed anything in his entire life.
He went to find it.