"Rescuing" Julia proved harder than he had first believed. Tom knew that Barnabas had his love locked away in that cold ancestral fortress. What did Barnabas care for her? He was using her for some stupid little science experiment. He couldn't need her the way that Tom did.
And Tom was literally starving for her body. He wouldn't lower himself to take from the women who walked Collinsport's docks. He could smell the disease rising ripe from the nubile bodies and taste their desperation in the air around their eyes. Tom would not pollute his body with their blood. He couldn't drink from the sewer when he knew that the pristine reservoir was within his reach. Although ravenous for nourishment, he could wait until his Julia returned.
Tom realized that Julia thought of him constantly. He wouldn't let her forget. He would pry into her mind and ask her why she wasn't with him. He would beg her to give her reasoning for resisting his call. He could hear her mental pleading for forgiveness, pleading for him to understand that there were others who needed her as badly as he did. Each time she gave this paltry excuse, he would ask her whose needs were more important: his or Barnabas'. She could never answer. Tom knew that any minute her answer might come and she would flee her romantic prison to run to his embrace.
Unfortunately, it was taking days to break her resolve. Tom knew she longed for him; Julia's desire was all that kept him going. Occasionally, he could hear her thoughts of escape. In even rarer instances, he could literally feel her body rise from its bed and move toward the door. But every time she inched forward, she would almost instantly run back to the bed and lie down. She was more afraid of Barnabas than enamored with Tom. If they had been allowed more time to get acquainted, this kind of thing wouldn't have happened.
Julia didn't have the strength to escape her captor. That was fine. Since she was unable to come to him, Tom would just have to go to her.
It was only fair to give her fair warning. "Julia," he whispered internally, "I'm coming to you, dear." He could feel her excitement mixing with equal trepidation. Barnabas had to be with her. What would that confrontation hold? If it were a physical battle . . . well, Tom could waste Mr. Collins in a moment. Not only was he the much younger man, but he now had the increased strength that went along with his change. Barnabas had given that up with his cure. Hand to hand combat would be a cinch. But Tom didn't know what would happen with any other kind of fight. Sometimes, it felt as if his mind needed more time to adapt to its new surroundings. He felt slower to the point of apathy because of it. Tom hoped this was a temporary condition. He couldn't stand an eternity of stupidity.
As he walked to the Old House, he could hear Julia's warnings going off inside his head. "He's still with me," she said silently. "He has a gun!" Gun? It seemed that Barnabas was becoming desperate. Silver bullet was a solid bet if he were fighting a werewolf; with a vampire, silver was a gamble. Tom wondered about Barnabas' aim. Would he be able to hit his heart? He was willing to bet that he couldn't.
Tom paced around the house once he arrived, looking desperately for the room Julia was being sequestered. Even from this distance, he could pick up the distinctive scent of her blood. He knew that it might have been a better idea to wait outside a while longer in the hopes that Barnabas would leave the room. Yet it didn't seem worth the wait. He knew that the feeding would not happen in the house. He had to lure her outside; he would have to take her somewhere else. Without further wavering, Tom let his body crumble to dust and rise into Julia's room.
The look on Julia's face when he appeared in her room was priceless. Her eyes were filled with fear. Fear of whom? How was he to know? But why was he to care? He only had to ask his question and leave. "Julia, why didn't you come when I called?"
"I . . . I wanted to go," she said, "but I . . . I . . . "
Tom twisted around to see the source of the sound. Just as he had expected, Barnabas stood a few feet away, gun in hand and a triumphant gleam in his eyes. But that spark disappeared as Julia sprung from her seat and stood between the barrel of the gun and her vampire lover. Barnabas begged her to get out of his way numerous times; each time, Julia refused to budge. Barnabas would just glance between Julia and Tom, anger filling his expression as he tried to think of a way out of the situation.
It would have been the perfect moment for Tom to gloat. Barnabas Collins, a man who normally oozed arrogance and control, was unable to command his closest confidante. If there was ever a moment to laugh, it was now. But it would just be a waste of time, not to mention that it would just enrage Barnabas further. The man was teetering on the breaking point. Anyone pushed to the brink would do anything to relieve his tension. His relief would probably come by emptying a gun into Tom's body. If that was going to be the case, he wouldn't be waiting around to see if Barnabas would reach the edge. Tom dematerialized and fled the building.
Tom reappeared a few feet away from the Old House. "Okay, that didn't go well," he snapped. He had known what he would walk into; why did the tension affect him? Had he actually felt sorry for Barnabas Collins? That couldn't be good. He felt so unsure of things now. He had to be losing his mind. He needed to feed and fast.
Tom knew what he needed, but he didn't know where to search for it. He didn't know if anyone else in the Collins family knew that he had returned. If they did, he couldn't hunt on their ground because they would catch him. Could he go into the village? His connections inside the community had been flimsy at best. To most people, he had been either the nice, "good ole boy" handyman or the younger brother of that boy who went away. They probably wouldn't recognize his face from anyone else's. He could go inside a bar or restaurant, pick some poor soul up, and end that life in a nearby alley. It was as good a plan as any.
But Tom didn't want to do it. He had never picked a person up in such a way. He knew 15-year-olds that were more experienced at such a rouse than he was. He didn't want to go, but he felt he had no choice. There were two voices speaking inside his head: the voice of the conscience and the voice of the blood. Although the former had been more powerful in life, the latter had taken over his spirit in death. It gave him no peace. Tom hated this compulsion and, for that, hated himself. He had become a slave to his thirst; he couldn't take it anymore.
Instead of walking into town, Tom wandered back toward the cemetery. It was quiet and, to Tom's delight, absent of even the façade of life. He fought the hunger as he walked back to his crypt. He only wanted sleep and if possible, to do so forever. This life was too much for him to take. He probably wouldn't gain the person he wanted; he more than likely would have to live off the lives of the lowest society had to offer; and he would not have felt that he had no chance for rest. Although mortals feared death, in the end, most go gratefully into its embrace. One can only live so long before the energy leaves and the need for silence takes over. What did Tom have to look forward to? The next kill? It had only taken a week, but he was now ready to die and start down the road he had been originally scheduled to walk.
As he moved toward his home, he heard rustling from the distance. After a small delay, he caught the smell of blood drifting in the air. Someone had decided to enter the fold. Tom couldn't notice this person's thoughts so he had no clue as to why this idiot had resolved to enter a cemetery. Yet how dare this person enter his world? As much as he wanted to turn away from it, Tom began to walk toward the smell. This person wouldn't be Julia, but this person was alive and ready to bleed. This person would end his pain. Yet, as ready as he was to feed, he was taken aback the moment he saw who was before him.
Elizabeth Stoddard walked among the graves mumbling to her self in a soft, unintelligible voice. Tom knew he couldn't bite Mrs. Stoddard. She had been so kind to him during his life. He couldn't take her life away, especially not when she was in such a low position. "Had I not worked for her, I wouldn't be here," he suddenly realized. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth Stoddard and her misplaced act of kindness, he wouldn't be where he was on this night. If only indirectly, she was the cause of his unending damnation. Tom knew that he had to show her the fruits of her actions, and with that, he stepped out of the shadows and into her line of sight.
It took no time for Elizabeth to realize that he was there. "Who are you?" she asked in a newly crazed voice. "What are you doing here?"
Tom didn't answer. He just stared down on his intended prey, delighting in the sight of the quickening pulse in her neck. Oh, if he could only inspire a little more fear, just enough to send her blood pounding through her body. He could just barely nip her, then, and the blood would flow easily into his needing mouth. But it really didn't matter; her blood would find home in his stomach one way or another.
Tom cracked the thinnest of smiles at Elizabeth Stoddard. When her bemused expression showed that she didn't understand, he extended the smile, allowing his razor like fangs to peak through and slip over his lips. This message she read easily and let out a mind-blowing howl to prove it. Tom should have pounced her at that moment, but he didn't. He first tried to quiet her, but when that didn't work, he fled in a puff of smoke. There was no telling who else was in the cemetery. If he hadn't left, any member of the Collins family who had followed their matriarch into no man's land would have discovered him. It was all so stressful! Tom was more than happy to return to his crypt. The darkness would do him good.
And for a few moments, he found his tranquility in the cool abyss. But just as soon as he felt comfortable, he began to sense someone approaching his crypt. He slipped further into the shadows and watched as a form emerged from the door. Tom could barely contain his delight: it was Julia! So she had been able to escape Barnabas Collins! He almost crept out of the darkness; all that stopped him was the sound of more footsteps. A few moments later, Elizabeth Stoddard entered the room. She looked over at the coffin and seemed to tense up instantly. She turned to Julia and asked, "Is it for me?"
Julia's anger was apparent. "Elizabeth," she said forcefully, "go home! This has nothing to do with you." Mrs. Stoddard didn't hesitate as she followed her houseguest's orders. Tom couldn't deny that he was impressed; it seemed his love wanted him more than he had bargained. He waited until the intruder was completely out of earshot before emerging from his hiding place. Julia removed her scarf immediately, revealing to him the scars of their last encounter. The sight of those red welts was enough to send him over the edge. He moved up to Julia and, taking her into his arms, sank his fangs into her neck.
It was so much better than he had remembered! Tom couldn't get close enough to her as he quietly drained her body. As he drank, Julia moaned and rubbed up against his body as he drank. She was trying to arouse him; she didn't have to do much to get him there. His body hardened against hers, begging for sweet release. But he couldn't find it the old fashioned way. Death had left his cock as limp as a cold wet noodle. Then again, the blood was all he really needed. He took from her body what he needed and, when rapture gripped his body, dropped her to the floor without warning.
It took a moment for Tom to realize what he had done. He bent down and checked Julia's pulse, breathing an uncertain sigh of relief as he rose to his feet. She had not died although she was almost dead. If he had taken a few more draughts of her blood, she would have been set to rise by tomorrow's nightfall. Technically, this was what he wanted. At the same time, he wasn't able to deal with it. He couldn't stay with her, not now. Tom fled the crypt quickly. He didn't have to worry about Julia; she wasn't going anywhere.
He walked around for an hour or so, staring up at the moonlit sky as he carefully dodged the oncoming trees. What was he doing with his life? In a few hours, he was going to return to the crypt and, for the first time, take someone's life. He had never purposefully killed an animal, much less a human. Tom felt that he couldn't go through with Julia's murder. And yet part of him was very aware of the fact that he was no longer human. He didn't react to the world in the way he had before. He was no longer playing by human rules. And living by these new rules left him incredibly isolated and lonely. If killing Julia would end that seclusion, it had to be done.
When Tom finally decided to wander back to his crypt, it was verging on daybreak. He knew that he didn't have much time to kill Julia, but he knew just as well that he didn't really need a great deal to finish his mission. He had left her near death; she was almost his.
As he moved closer to the crypt he sensed that something was amiss. The sound of quickly approaching footsteps sent him scurrying behind a tree. He looked back to see Barnabas Collins' manservant frantically running away from the crypt. "Oh God," mumbled Tom. "That idiot has found me out." Taking Julia was now out of the question. His only goal for the rest of the quickly fading night was to stay alive.
Tom slipped quietly into the crypt and saw Barnabas Collins standing by with hammer and stake in hand. Hypocritical bastard! Barnabas had probably taken extra care to stop anyone from ending his own "horrid" experience, but when another vampire enters into his town, he's the first to pick up the pike.
For some odd reason, Barnabas seemed surprised to see Tom standing before him. Didn't he realize that a vampire would return to its hiding place before sunrise? Was Tom the only other vampire he had ever seen with his own eyes? That really wasn't the question at the moment. Tom, who had been able to successfully knock the hammer from Barnabas' hands, fought with his enemy over the stake. Barnabas kept trying to remind him of the coming dawn. Tom wasn't that stupid. He wasn't about to go to sleep and leave the man who would kill him free to do so. He knocked the stake from Barnabas' hands and pushed him into the coffin. For the shortest moment, he stared into this man's eyes and he saw a fear there that he had never seen before. How many times had this one looked into the eyes of his victims and saw the same look of mortal dread, the knowing that there would be no more sunrises or spring days once this night ended. More than anyone, Barnabas deserved to meet this kind of end. Tom would enjoy this task.
Just as he leaned in for the kill, a rooster crowed and broke Tom's trance. 'Dammit,' he thought, 'It's coming quicker than I had expected.' Tom could feel the air begin to heat up around him. The sun was rising and he needed to get into the coffin. Barnabas, thinking that he was clever, said, "It's too late. The sun has come." Tom could feel the sneer smearing across his face as he pushed the smug prude to the floor, watching as his head bounced off the stone surface and fell unconscious. Someone needed to teach that man not to speak out of turn. Tom was glad that had been given the chance. As much as he wanted to remove Barnabas from the crypt, he couldn't chance walking outside. The sun was rising quicker, sapping away his strength as it searched its place out in the sky. With much trepidation, Tom climbed into the coffin and shut himself away for the day.
Tom usually waited until the he felt that the sun had completely risen before sleeping, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything more than close his eyes. That man remained alive and he would do anything in his power to snuff out the life that lay in the coffin. He knew that he hadn't knocked Barnabas out for the day. Soon enough, he would come to, pick up his instruments, and pound the stake into Tom's heart. Although Tom was tired of this life, he wasn't ready to die, especially not by Barnabas Collins' hand.
A few minutes after sunrise, Tom heard the coffin lid creep open. Barnabas had come around after all! Had he opened the lid a few minutes earlier, Tom still might have had the strength to reach out and grab his attacker, forcing lengthened nails into the skin before sinking his fangs into the nearest vein. But the sun had sapped all of his strength and Tom was forced to lay back and allow this to happen.
"How many times has another stood over my coffin, stake in hand with the intention to end my life?" mused Barnabas.
'Hundreds of times! Now feel sorry for me and leave!' thought Tom angrily. Barnabas didn't seem to be receiving the message. He placed the stake over Tom's heart.
Even before the hammer sent it into his body, Tom could feel the tip of the stake sinking into his day-weakened skin. It created a small amount of pressure in his chest and seemed to ready the rest of his body for pain that was to come. Tom knew that he wouldn't be ready. His past didn't pass through his mind as much as his future did. Every missed moment, be it from his mortal life or from his immortal one, flew past his eyes, bringing with it unmistakable joy and undeniable grief. He was 24. Although his life had never been pleasant, it wasn't supposed to end like this.
Tom faintly heard the hammer swing above him, a silent swish before he felt his heart burst in his chest. Pressure built in side, pushing against skin, muscle and bone in a futile attempt to escape. Tom thought he would explode if he didn't do something fast. The only thing he knew to do was scream, releasing the tension in his chest and the blood that had flown into his mouth after the impact. Although he was dying, he could still feel the fear rising in Barnabas Collins; he wanted him to be afraid. He wanted Barnabas to remember what it looked and sounded like to take the life of someone when they were at their most vulnerable. This was meant to be an experience that would stick.
After the air was gone, Tom fell into permanent silence. The blood that remained in his body pooled in his lungs, constricting further breathing and sapping away the remaining oxygen. Since blood flow had ceased, his limbs began to go numb and quickly die away. His vision had begun to fade and his world soon turned to black. For a few moments more, Tom could hear the ragged beating of Barnabas' still exasperated heart taunting him. If he had only been stronger . . .
And then there was nothing. The body had totally given out and the soul was looking for a way out. He felt so deeply relaxed as the life trickled away from him. He wasn't fighting it anymore, allowing his body to release and fall into place.
And it was all over. There was no more anger, no more frustration. His life was over and Tom Jennings was truly at peace.