Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 11: THE WITCH'S BATTLES
Elizabeth curled her lip at the detestable sight of Jason's loathsome grin.
"I'd prefer that you refrain from telling your morbid lies, Jason." The matriarch glared darkly. "Paul is not dead. He never was. I didn't murder him, and you lied to me about it."
Jason frowned, then nodded to himself. He placed his hands behind his back. "No, he isn't," he conceded jauntily with a heavy sigh. "But I must say, I've been livin' with that lie for so long, I was beginnin' to believe it myself."
That sordid deception robbed Elizabeth of eighteen years of her life. A deception that heartlessly tricked her into believing that she was actually guilty of murder, and nearly had her submitting to Jason's extortion. Even going so far as to become engaged to him so he could get his rotten hands on her fortune.
"Must you be so callous over this matter, Jason," Elizabeth chided resentfully. "You're very fortunate to have made it out of this town without any legal consequences."
"I s'pose you changed your mind." Jason shrugged simply.
"If I had, you wouldn't have returned here so willingly only to get arrested," Elizabeth countered pointedly.
"No, I wouldn't," Jason admitted gruffly. "Tell me, Liz, what made you so desperate to have me back in your life so soon?"
"Believe it or not, someone even more despicable than you," Elizabeth exclaimed tensely.
"Is there really such a person?" Jason said slyly, his amused chuckle echoing through the ancient, moldy crypt.
"Roger has remarried," Elizabeth informed him curtly. "To a woman who is somehow manipulating him, and controlling him against his will."
Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"She is after my family, and I need your help," Elizabeth finished.
"Fighting malice with malice," Jason mused wickedly. "Interesting strategy, Liz. Though, I'm sincerely sorry you are goin' through such a rough patch."
Elizabeth coldly ignored his taunt.
"But I s'pose it is the Collins way," the con man added smugly.
"I need you to keep Roger in check," said Elizabeth. "Make sure he isn't squandering the fleet's resources as he foolishly caters to his new bride."
Elizabeth glanced at the plaque of L. Murdoch Stockbridge. She was reminded of Roger's former wife Laura. She was David's biological mother, and was a conniving woman as well. She'd put David's life in endless danger. For the life of her, Elizabeth could never understand her brother's taste in women.
"You'd have me sneakin' 'bout the ol' ancestral manor, jumpin' out of closets to preserve your brother's honor?" Jason quipped.
"You are going to work as a janitor for Collins Enterprises," she told him.
"What?" Jason looked at her disgruntled. This was a drastic demotion from his previous title as Public Relations Director. A job he acquired with his cunning and blackmail.
"Your role as janitor will allow you to maneuver through the company unnoticed," Elizabeth said steadily. "It should be easy for a man like you to keep an eye on Roger."
"I see." Jason rubbed his chin. "And I'll be paid?"
"Modestly," answered Elizabeth. "At the end of the day, you'll rest in a room at the Collinsport Inn that I will select for you."
"Ya must be dealin' with a real ruthless lass if you're needin' my assistance that badly," remarked Jason.
"You're an aimless drifter who's amounted to nothing since I allowed you to leave," Elizabeth chastised him. "At least I'm making you useful."
"We never worked well together, you and I," said Jason, his tone almost carrying a light fondness. He lazily rolled on the balls of his feet with his hands returning behind his back. "You never struck me as the sort who makes the same mistake twice. What prevents me from stabbin' you in the back the first chance I get?"
"Me. "
Bill's drenched incorporeal ghost materialized before the con man, transparent with his ever present seaweed clinging to him. The salty stench of the sea relentlessly assaulted Jason's nostrils.
"If you do anything to harm Liz, McGuire, you will answer to me now and in the hereafter!"
"M-Malloy? "All the color drained from Jason's arrogant face. His eyes were dangerously on the verge of popping out of their sockets and bouncing around the stone floors like tennis balls. Was he honestly staring at a dead man?
Jason didn't recall his last encounter with Bill Malloy. They'd never liked each other. Jason always dismissed him as Liz's lap dog.
"What do you say, Jason?" Elizabeth looked at him daringly. "Will you help me?"
Jason hesitated. His stunned eyes were still glued on the glowering Bill.
"I-I need some time to think it over, Liz," the con man finally answered.
"I won't give you too much time, Jason," Elizabeth warned firmly. "Bear in mind, declining my offer will see you back to being a helpless reprobate on the streets."
"Duly noted, Liz," Jason growled with glaring eyes.
He stormed away from her and her ghost with tense shoulders. Before he could exit the crypt, however, he bumped into an old man descending carefully down the steep stone steps. He was a frail individual, with graying hair and a mustache, wearing a long brown coat with a wrinkled brown suit tucked in underneath. Crooked spectacles perched on top of the bridge of his nose. He looked at Jason with a unnervingly powerful recognition.
"Oh, oh - it's you." He pointed at Jason. "You're - you're not here to rob the graves, are you?"
Jason scoffed at the old man. "No, I'm not robbin' any graves, you pathetic ol' sod." The con man bitterly exited the tomb.
The old mad caretaker then noticed Elizabeth standing by L. Murdoch Stockbridge's plaque.
"Oh," he echoed. "What are you two doing in here?"
Elizabeth gawked at Bill's ghost. Evidently, the mad caretaker could consciously see her special companion.
"He has a special talent with the dead," Bill steadily whispered to Elizabeth.
"You're not here to disturb the dead, are you, madam?" The caretaker echoed with a pitiful wobble in his voice.
Elizabeth looked at him sadly. "No, I'd never dream of doing such a thing."
She then quietly stepped up the stone steps to leave the tomb.
The caretaker clearly peered at Bill's ghost through his owlish spectacles. "Oh, you poor murdered soul," he murmured. "You should be at rest. Why aren't you resting?"
"I'd like to," Bill told him. "But I have something important here."
Bill faded away, leaving the lost and shivering old man alone to guard the ancient graves.
Relishing the bright rays of the winter sun gleaming around him, Barnabas slowly trudged through the thick snow with Vicki as he escorted her back to Collinwood.
"I'd be delighted to offer my assistance in the search for your parents, Vicki," he said to her.
"Oh, I don't want to be a burden to you, Barnabas," declined Vicki. "Burke will help me find them."
"I am more than willing to help," Barnabas insisted. "I am sure with the Collins family connections and my resources, we will make far swifter progress if we collaborate. I see absolutely no harm in you receiving extra assistance."
"That's very kind of you, Barnabas," Vicki said graciously.
"Will you allow me to help you?" Barnabas asked hopefully.
"I'll think it over," Vicki answered him. "This is something I'd like to talk about with Mrs. Stoddard."
Rustling the snow from the distant evergreens, Josette continued observing the duo. The ghost sensed the upcoming presence of an earlier matriarch.
"It is marvelous to see him shrouded in the daylight." The wispy Naomi Collins materialized by Josette in a lavish ivory gown. "I didn't think it was possible. That woman doctor actually transformed my son into a man again."
"Angelique is still a curse upon the family," Josette reminded her soberly. "And I am still banished from the Great House."
"She will be vanquished." Naomi patted her shoulder reassuringly.
"I know." Josette gaze downward.
"You and Barnabas are still in love." Naomi closely examined her emotions.
"Yes. Always." Josette glanced up at her.
Naomi gazed down at her son and the young governess.
"That girl is a Collins," she stated knowingly.
"Yes." Josette nodded. "That is why Barnabas is so strongly drawn to her."
"She reminds him of you," Naomi remarked.
"Yes, and she is drawn to me," murmured Josette.
As Barnabas and Vicki trudged closer to the Great House, Julia saw them through the window in the drawing room. With her warm coffee cup in hand, Julia beamed proudly at the result of her greatest medical achievement. Those brutal years of hard work, rigorous research, and off-handed comments about her gender at medical school, (and having to endure even more salacious comments from the ghosts at the Old House), had finally paid off.
Though, Julia personally didn't understand why Barnabas wanted to celebrate in the presence of the admittedly attractive, but hopelessly naïve and engaged governess. Julia supposed Barnabas had an attraction to younger women. Josette herself was young when she died.
Sighing, Julia didn't even know why she was bothering with these thoughts. Barnabas wasn't exactly the most corroborative patient at first. He'd made even more outlandish and colorful remarks about her being a woman doctor than any of the ghosts. But she had cured him regardless. She seemed to have earned his gratitude, but she really wanted his trust.
She realized footsteps were coming from the staircase in the foyer, accompanied by male voices. Unmistakably, Burke and Willie. She sensed one of the men stepping into the drawing room joining her at the window.
"D - Dr. Hoffman?" stuttered Willie. He peered through the window and saw what Julia was looking at. He then turned to Julia and studied her face. "Dr. Hoffman, ya care for Barnabas, dontcha?"
Julia didn't look at him.
The front doors in the foyer breezed open; Barnabas had returned Vicki back to the mansion, and Burke greeted them at the front entrance.
"Welcome back, darling."
"I thought you said you were going to wait for me in the West Wing," said Vicki.
"I saw you heading back through the window," Burke exclaimed. "I thought I should welcome you back."
"There was no need for you to fret over Vicki, Mr. Devlin," Barnabas interjected smoothly. "She was with me."
"I'm not the kind of person who frets," said Burke.
Vicki shrugged off her coat, and said, "I'm sorry if we took too long. Barnabas and I were having a lovely time."
"There's no need to apologize," Burke assured her. "We should head for the West Wing with Willie. Jennings and the boys should be here any minute."
"Yes, we've got a lot to do," Vicki agreed wearily.
"Oh, if I may," Barnabas cut in politely. "Could I be permitted to speak with Willie for a moment? I won't take too much of his time."
"Not at all," Vicki told him. "I'll hopefully see you later. It was really nice seeing you this morning, Barnabas."
"I always enjoy your company," Barnabas returned warmly.
Vicki smiled and headed for the staircase with her fiancé. As they ascended up, Vicki glanced down into the foyer, watching Barnabas enter the drawing room. She couldn't shake the lingering feeling that there was something quite mysterious and troubling about him. Deep down, he was somehow not a typical person.
Barnabas firmly shut the doors of the drawing room, and was alone with Julia and Willie.
"Where is Angelique?" Barnabas demanded sternly.
"Why, in her room," Willie answered. "Maggie is keepin' tabs on her."
"Barnabas, we should get you back to the Old House," urged Julia. "I'd like to make sure there aren't any side effects with your treatments."
"I am feeling jubilant, doctor," Barnabas insisted strongly. "In fact, I'd very much like to get better acquainted with Mrs. Collins."
In the foyer, Maggie quietly descended down the staircase with a feather duster in hand. She spent about twenty minutes watching Roger and Cassandra's shut bedroom door, while half-heartedly dusting in the corridor.
It seemed to Maggie that for whatever reason, the witch couldn't bring herself to depart from their room. Surely, she must have something to hide. Maggie's chest itched, irritated due to the hidden warm medallion dutifully reacting to the witch being so near.
When she reached the bottom landing, Maggie dusted the large foyer table while uncomfortably scratching her chest. She decided to seek out Willie and hand him the medallion for a while. The witch wasn't threatening her for the time being.
Maggie heard a nearby door creaking open; Roger stepped out of the study with a very huffy look placed on his stuffy face.
"Do you know where Liz is at?" he demanded of her.
"She left with Mrs. Johnson," Maggie supplied with narrow eyes. "She said they'd be back shortly."
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Roger scoffed at her.
"Maybe because you locked me and Willie in that awful tower room last night," Maggie said evenly.
Roger scoffed again. "I really don't have the time to dwell over your and Loomis' moronic issues."
"Considering who you are Roger Collins, I wouldn't expect you to," Maggie countered. "I haven't forgotten how you choked my father on a chain for ten years."
Roger scoffed yet again. "Ancient history, dear girl."
"But I can't completely blame you for last night," Maggie conceded empathetically. "I know she made you do it."
"What?" Roger furrowed his brow. He recalled how she made a similar argument when she hysterically banged on the door to the tower room after he locked her and Willie up in there.
The front double doors flung open; Elizabeth entered, along with Mrs. Johnson. The matriarch darkened her gaze at the sight of her brother speaking directly with her servant. "Is there anything wrong here?"
"No, Liz," Roger scowled indignantly. "You made your feelings toward Maggie's employment here perfectly clear."
The doors to the drawing room flung open; Barnabas strode out into the foyer, along with Julia and Willie.
"Oh, welcome back, Elizabeth," Barnabas said chivalrously, but a little off guard. "I hadn't known you'd left."
"Mrs. Johnson and I went to pay a quick visit to an old, dear friend," Elizabeth exclaimed.
"How nice," said Barnabas simply.
While the Collinses exchange these banal pleasantries, Maggie was glad to see Willie. She could now pass on the medallion while everyone was mercifully distracted.
"Dr. Hoffman has informed me that Dr. Woodard is going to evaluate David," Barnabas said to Elizabeth.
"Yes, we're hoping he will find out what is wrong with him," Elizabeth replied gravely.
"I think I'd like to remain here till he arrives," said Barnabas. "I am greatly concerned for young David, and I hope Dr. Woodard will be able to provide a remedy for him."
"Yes, I think we all want him to figure out what is wrong." Elizabeth sighed.
With a dark, blank look cloaking his eyes, Roger silently headed for the staircase. He robotically ascended his way up.
Puzzled and a little put off by her brother's abrupt rude behavior, Elizabeth asked, "Where are you going, Roger?"
"My wife needs me," Roger answered flatly from up the landing.
Mrs. Johnson scoffed once he departed the room. "She always needs him in the worst ways," she stated. "If you ask me, their relationship is built entirely on co-dependency."
But Barnabas knew what was really going on. Roger was being supernaturally summoned through witchcraft.
As Roger obediently creeped down the corridors, his mind still burned with the deceptive and sultry words he'd overheard his wife whispering in the secret tower room.
You and I are kindred souls, Joe Haskell.
Roger blinked. He found himself twisting the knob of his bedroom door, and stepping into his room. He found it almost fascinating. Ever since he'd met Cassandra, he found himself doing absentminded things without truly realizing it till afterwards.
His bride stood before the bedroom window with her shapely back turned on him. Her whole head draped in a lacy black veil. Roger didn't glance at his wife's unusually aged portrait as he shut the bedroom door.
Cassandra turned away from the window, and faced her husband with the gleaming flame from his golden cigarette lighter.
"What do you want from me?" Roger asked of her, his glassy gaze directly on the flame.
"I want you to hire Joe Haskell as our new handyman," Cassandra commanded behind her veil.
Roger blinked. He gazed at his wife's obscurely covered eyes.
"We have a handyman in Jennings," he drawled. "Haskell works at the cannery."
"I want Joe on the grounds," Cassandra ordered domineeringly.
"Why?" Roger attempted to gain some control of the conversation.
"I want Joe on the grounds," Cassandra repeated evenly. "You will make that happen."
Roger stared at her blankly, but his searing insides were painfully boiling over.
The winter sun shone brightly against the white snow covering the grounds of the frosty Collinwood estate. Protectively donning his winter coat, boots, and gloves, Joe left tracks in the thick snow as he aimlessly wandered the property.
His little cousin Amy reluctantly accompanied him, layerly dressed in a heavy green coat, scarf, mittens, and winter boots. A befuddled look etched across the girl's cold rosy face as she trudged through the snow with her adult cousin.
"Joe, why are we still here?" she asked. "You're supposed to be driving me to school."
"I will, Amy," Joe said to her, staring around glassily at the snow-capped trees.
"I'll get in big trouble if I'm late," Amy murmured anxiously, bundling herself up in her coat. "And you could get in big trouble with Tom for not taking me to school on time."
"Neither of us will get in trouble," Joe answered, slightly annoyed. "I'm trying to find someone."
"Who?" Amy cocked her head. "A friend?"
Joe inwardly tried to find the right words to explain it to her. "Someone I need to talk to."
"Tom wants to talk to Chris," Amy exclaimed. "But Chris wants to be alone."
"It's not like that," Joe told her shortly. "The person I want to talk to is not a hermit."
Amy cocked her head again, stunned by the brash words aimed at her absent brother.
"She's nothing like Chris," Joe backtracked guiltily.
"Your new friend is a girl?" Amy murmured.
Before Joe could respond, he heard whispering voices maneuvering through the crisp air, rustling the snowy tree branches.
"Why must you help this henpecked scallywag?" drawled a dismissive male voice.
A voice Joe recognized as belonging to the Navy sailor bearing his face. A man named Nathan Forbes.
"Because he is kind and good," came the reply of a delicate sounding woman.
The ghost Joe was seeking out.
"Joshua and Daniel don't want you to interfere with him," pestered the male voice.
"Nor would they suffer you're continued interference in regards to me," countered the female voice.
"But matters are so marvelously exciting with you at the moment," the male voice said gleefully. "I can't possibly tear myself away from it all."
Joe dragged his gaze down to Amy, unsure if she could hear the voices. Bending down to her, he asked, "Amy, why don't you go play in the snow for a while?"
"But, Joe, I really have to get to school!" Amy protested, perturbed.
"I will get you to school on time," Joe said hastily. "I just have to find my friend."
Amy looked at him like he was a crazy person, and Joe stood up. He realized the gazebo was straight ahead, and hurried his way toward it. He left the befuddled Amy behind.
Joe rushed to the snowy gazebo, and called out uncertainly, "Hello?"
A sharp chill stung the back of his neck, causing him to whirl around and face the back bench. He spotted the weakly transparent ghost of a woman sitting primly on the snowy bench, smiling sweetly. She was the ghost Joe had searched the grounds for, longing to obey the order of his enchanting mistress.
The ghost wore a long pale blue Colonial gown, with a gray shawl draped around her pale slender shoulders. Her long luscious locks still curled up in wavy ringlets, but she added some new additions that Joe hadn't seen before. Little black flowers were pinned up elegantly in her hair, a look that complemented her.
"Oh, good, I found you," Joe breathed heavily.
"But it is I that found you, Joe Haskell," the ghost woman teased with a silly giggle. "I know you are pursuing me." She smiled sweetly again. "But I shall never allow you to court me. I refuse to suffer through that dreadful indignity ever again."
Joe gulped. He was uncertain if she was trying to use her feminine wiles or just to confuse him. He found himself growing uncomfortable, even though he was admittedly seeking her out under the command of his mistress. He deeply wished that he didn't have to follow this order.
She was after all a ghost. A dead woman from another century. Joe found he was actually terrified of her. But his fears did not matter, he needed only to obey his mistress.
"I was looking everywhere for you." Joe swallowed, nervously drawing himself closer to her. He tried to mask the obvious fear in his voice. "I need to talk to you."
"And I'd like to speak with you, as well," said the ghost lightly. "I would like to be your friend."
"Yeah, that's what I want, too." Joe stepped up to her, glancing down at her weak incorporeal form sitting innocently on the snowy bench. "You're Millicent Collins, right?"
"Yes." She giggled shyly. "And you are Joe Haskell. I haven't forgotten your name."
"Thanks." Joe nodded nervously. He chewed the inside of his cheek before he continued. "I have heard of you. You are a Collins ancestor. Your name has been mentioned in history books."
Millicent giggled impishly at that.
"You came from the same time as Josette Collins." Joe hoped that sounded subtle. "You said you knew her."
"I wasn't raised here with my esteemed cousins," Millicent exclaimed haughtily. "My brother Daniel and myself proudly hailed from New York."
"Josette Collins wasn't from around here, either," Joe tried to integrate. "Maybe you two bonded over that?"
"I was never happy here." Millicent lowered a somber gaze. "Collinwood brought me not but tragedy and misfortune." She gazed up at him wide-eyed. "I was much happier in New York. That was, until I was old enough to fully embrace New York."
At his questioning look, Millicent clarified, "I was a rather frail child. Far too frail to venture outdoors. I was confined to my quarters, where I had to spend much of my days resting in bed. When I was alone, I would sneak up to my window and gaze upon the buildings, and the horse-drawn coaches down below. I was mesmerized! I wanted to be a part of it all! That finally happened when I reached twelve years of age. The doctor finally declared I was physically strong enough to go outdoors. Oh, that was the happiest day in my entire cursed life, Joe Haskell!" She laughed happily, but also a little madly.
Joe was completely unsettled.
"Oh, my dear Momma and Poppa were prominent members of New York society," Millicent went on giddily. "Momma selected the most beautiful dresses for me to wear. And - oh, how she use to pin flowers in my hair! I selected the black ones whenever I could. I always liked how the black contrasted with my fair curls."
"Uh-huh." Joe nodded, unsure how he should tolerate this. He already knew about her background in New York. He needed to learn something new about Josette.
"The parties... the plays... the dances," Millicent went on wistfully. She glanced up at Joe, and queried, "Have you ever been to New York?"
Joe cleared his throat. "No, the farthest I've ever been was Boston."
"I have been to Boston," Millicent responded dismissively. "Oh, I wish I could take you to New York!"
"From what I hear, it's quite the place," Joe said awkwardly, though he doubted that anyone he'd know, now or then, could ever visit Millicent's New York.
"What were you like when you were a boy?" Millicent asked him out of the blue.
"You really want to know what my childhood was like?" Joe was completely thrown by this.
"Oh, yes, please." Millicent nodded eagerly with a small giggle.
"It's not as privileged as yours," Joe exclaimed frankly. "I grew up in a small house in the village."
"Were your Momma and Poppa kind souls?" Millicent queried interestedly.
"Yes, they were good people." Joe nodded affirmatively. "My Dad was a fisherman. I followed in his footsteps."
"You were born to be a man of the sea." Millicent giggled playfully.
Joe smiled nervously. "Yeah, I suppose I am. My mother worked for Mrs. Stoddard from time to time. She used to take me up here to Collinwood when I was a kid. The house used to give me the creeps. But that was how I met Carolyn."
"Is she your lady?" Millicent questioned.
"I don't think I would describe her as that," said Joe.
"I can tell by gazing into your tormented eyes that your Momma and Poppa have met a tragic end," Millicent murmured sadly.
"Yes, I supposed they did." Joe lowered a mournful gaze.
"My Momma and Poppa met a tragic end as well," Millicent filled in softly.
Joe lifted his gaze back up to her. He recalled how she'd informed him of that, along with her New York background, unnervingly through a convulsing Carolyn.
"I know your pain very well," Millicent wept. "I sincerely hope you are not cursed, Joe. Like my family and I."
A sharp disembodied voice invaded the frigid air. "Millicent!"
The ghost in question gasped frantically. "Daniel! Oh, he mustn't know I am here with you!" Her eyes then grew woeful. "Oh, poor Daniel. He was only a baby when Momma and Poppa met their bloody deaths."
She faded in a chilly breeze, ruffling Joe's dark wavy hair.
Millicent was gone.
The next thing Joe knew, someone else stepped into the gazebo. Two people in fact; Amy and Carolyn, who donned her pricey green winter coat, and a disapproving scowl.
"Joe? Is something wrong?" questioned the young blonde who looked distinctly like the ghost Joe was just speaking with.
"No, Carolyn," Joe denied.
"Amy told me you are acting strange," said Carolyn, crossing her arms over her chest.
"No, I'm not acting strange," Joe vehemently insisted.
"Should I be the one to take Amy to school then?" Carolyn blandly suggested. "You're going to be late to the cannery."
"I am perfectly capable of driving Amy to school," said Joe stubbornly.
"Oh, Haskell." Roger strolled up to the gazebo suddenly, wearing a long checkered coat and fedora hat. "I'm glad you are here. I'd like to offer you a business proposition."
"What is that?" asked Joe.
"Cassandra and I would like for you to be our new handyman," drawled Roger.
"But Tom is our handyman," Carolyn said taken aback.
"And Joe can be, too," Roger responded.
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Collins." Joe smiled politely. "I accept your offer."
"What?" Carolyn looked like she'd been struck on the face. "But, Joe - you're saving money for a boat!"
"It's not a big deal, Carolyn." Joe shrugged.
"Go shovel some snow now," Roger ordered him with a sharp resentful glare spiking his eyes.
"Yes sir, Mr. Collins." Joe nodded eagerly.
Carolyn and Amy watched the two men trudging away from the gazebo.
Amy tugged the bottom of Carolyn's coat. "Carolyn, can you drive me to school?"
"Yes, Amy."
Carolyn continued watching the two retreating men, struggling to comprehend the latest Collinwood strangeness unraveling around her.
In her gray, gloomy shut bedroom, Cassandra widely stared at the portrait through her black lacy veil. Her insides were seething, but there was also heavy panic weighing her down like an anchor.
The mystical blonde woman in the painting was aging, slowly and witheringly, with dark heavy bags sagging under her eyes. Her face was creased with deep increasing wrinkles, and gray streaks stroked across her golden locks.
Cassandra deeply knew the ghosts were responsible for this. In turn, Cassandra's whole face and body was morphing into an ancient, shriveling form.
Clearly, Josette was orchestrating this cunning attack, but not carrying it out personally. Cassandra was more than certain she had effectively banished her.
No, this was clearly the work of servants.
A loud screeching giggle crept up behind her. Cassandra spun around alarmed, and found a rotting skeleton in a wedding gown lying casually on the bed, resting on her side. The skeleton cackled wildly.
Cassandra hissed and balled her fists. She glared at the ghost, and frustratingly cried, "You are not Josette! You are a poor and cheap imitation. Very much like that common girl Barnabas pathetically abducted. I don't know who you are, but I will find out. Make no mistake about that!"
The skeleton shimmered and vanished from the bed.
Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. That phantom just had to be a servant. She was despicably responsible for Cassandra's inability to take a simple shower.
Cassandra hated how ripe her stench smelled and greasy her hair had become. She hadn't washed in days. But this insignificant servant was not responsible for doctoring her portrait.
Another ghost was. Someone who knew exactly how not to be detected .
A new wrinkle stroked across her two dimensional counterpart's lined forehead, accumulating on her own features. Cassandra glared. The phantom artist had evidently resumed his work.
Cassandra narrowed her veiled eyes. "I command you to show yourself."
The unseen phantom ignored her. A new transformation took hold of the portrait. Her counterpart's jowls were beginning to sag drastically. Cassandra's own face was falling droopily.
Cassandra grew angrier. "I have immense powers," she warned. "I'd have no qualms with destroying you! I banished the mighty Josette Collins from this house!"
"Ya didn' destroy her!" a gruff accented voice sliced the air.
It was a powerful and familiar voice. A portly man materialized before her. The transparent Ben Stokes glowered at her, with a sharp pointed paint brush firm within his grip.
Cassandra smirked amused and nodded. "Ah, of course. My former slave Ben Stokes. Now the very willing slave of Barnabas and Josette."
"We won't let ya go hurtin' any more people," Ben growled.
"Barnabas must continue to suffer," Cassandra shot icily. "He is not this generous and kind soul you all make him out to be. He deserves to live in his torment."
"Mr. Barnabas ain't perfect," Ben amended. "But 'his family don't deserve ya! They don't deserve all this sufferin' all 'cause Mr. Barnabas broke yer heart."
"I will banish you, Ben Stokes," Cassandra said mockingly. "Just as I did with Josette."
"Ya haven' harm Ms. Josette," Ben boasted. "Anymore ya have harm Mr. Jeremiah all those years ago. Ya may control some ghosts against their wills, but ya cannot harm 'em! I an' all the servant ghosts here are the forgotten ones. We are careful to blend in the shadows of 'his house. We forgotten ones are good at blendin' in the shadows, in life an' in death. That is why ya couldn' bewitched me and banished all of us from here. Ya cannot sense us."
"I can banish you now, Ben," Cassandra said heatedly through gritted teeth. "You have made yourself known. And I will find out who all these other ghosts are who dare to oppose me."
"Look at ya portrait." Ben indicated the painting with his paint brush. "Ya an old hag. 'His is ya true self!"
"How dare you, Ben!" Cassandra hissed.
"Ya powers are weakenin'!" Ben viciously stroked the blunt end of his brush across the witch's artfully duplicated features.
A sharp burning slice reminiscent of a razor-sharp blade cut across Cassandra's face. She screamed and covered her veiled face with her hands in tremendous agony. Ben struck the painting again. Cassandra wallowed over as more sharp disembodied slicing assaulted her tender veiled flesh.
"YA CAN'T HARM ME ANYMORE!" bellowed the former slave triumphantly. "YA CAN'T HARM MR. BARNABAS!"
"Barnabas hurt me first!" Cassandra screamed furiously, as she fell to her knees on the floor in great pain.
Ben continued attacking the painting maliciously, causing Cassandra to roll over on the floor screaming.
"Ya have no power over 'im!" Ben taunted her. "He conquered ya curse! He can step into the daylight! He defeated you! Ya must go back to hell where you have come from!"
On the floor, more unbearable stabbing assaulted Cassandra's face, severely blinding her. She felt her body drifting, flowing down into the depths. How could she face Diabolos in the netherworld? She had failed to maintain her curse, along with her legacy. She would surely be destroyed for her massive failure.
As she fluttered open her heavy eyes, she found surprisingly enough, she was not back in the netherworld. She hadn't even left her bedroom. But she was not riving in agony on the floor anymore.
She was lying in bed. Roger stood by the bedside, but Cassandra's vision of him was obscured. She realized her veil still covered her old hideous face.
"Are you alright, darling?" Roger asked lifelessly. "I felt as though you were in trouble, so I came back here, only to find you passed out on the floor."
"I-I think so, darling." Cassandra weakly lifted herself up with her elbows. She could tell by the tone of Roger's voice that he was emotionally distant, but still maintained his loyalty to her. Perhaps, Roger unknowingly interrupted Ben before he could fully destroy her in this physical realm.
Cassandra knew how dangerous ghosts could be. Jeremiah taught her that. But somehow they'd overpowered her, and stole her youth and beauty. Worst of all, her powers were rapidly decreasing.
It was more than likely she would be destroyed shortly. But Cassandra realized that Barnabas was just as fragile as she was now. He had overcome her curse. Funny how delicate life can truly be for a normal person.
Barnabas and Julia joined Elizabeth on the couch in the drawing room, sipping the hot peppermint tea that Maggie and Mrs. Johnson prepared for them. Barnabas took in the Christmas ornaments and garlands that decorated much of the room, hopelessly attempting to make the dark gloomy room festive.
The grand clock in the foyer loudly chimed eleven o'clock. By this time in the late morning, Roger's caterers were running rampant in the Great Hall, while Burke and Vicki's construction crew pounded away in the West Wing. Elizabeth still found it irritating that all of these people were parading noisily throughout her house. But Barnabas' presence was more than welcome.
"I'm glad you are feeling so much better, Barnabas," said the matriarch.
"Thank you, Elizabeth," Barnabas humbly replied. "Where is Roger's new bride Cassandra? I thought she'd be overseeing the preparations for the Great Hall."
"She's in her and Roger's bedroom, I believe." Elizabeth sighed. "Roger said she's not feeling very well."
"Oh, I see," Barnabas said silkily. "Is it the same ailment as young David by any chance?"
"I really don't know." Elizabeth shrugged.
A knock echoed from the foyer.
"That must be Dr. Woodard." Elizabeth lifted herself up from the couch and hurried out of the drawing room. Flinging open the double doors, she found Maggie making her way out from the kitchen.
"Do you want me to answer it, Mrs. Stoddard?" she asked.
"No thank you, Maggie. I'll answer it."
As Elizabeth headed for the front doors, Barnabas quietly called for Maggie to join him in the drawing room. Maggie obediently came to him, feeling a little chilled by the reminder of how he used to supernaturally summon her. She still found she resented being controlled by him.
"Do you know where in this house Angelique is located?" Barnabas questioned his former prisoner.
"In her and Roger's bedroom," Maggie answered lowly. "I think something happened up there. I saw Roger come down the stairs a few minutes ago, and he looked more agitated than normal."
"Do you think something happened to her?" Julia queried Barnabas.
"I sincerely hope so," whispered Barnabas.
Elizabeth answered the front doors in the foyer, pleased to find Dr. Woodard standing at the doorstep with his medical bag in hand.
"Good morning, Mrs. Stoddard."
"Dr. Woodard, please come on in."
Dr. Woodard gladly stepped inside and shrugged off his coat. "I gather David is up in his room," guessed the doctor.
"Yes, he's in bed," Elizabeth supplied.
Barnabas, Julia, and Maggie filed out of the drawing room. Dr. Woodard's eyes bulged when he laid his sights on Barnabas. A man who now existed naturally in the day.
"Why, hello, Mr. Collins," he said quite surprised. "You look very well. You're not as pale as you used to be."
"Hello to you, too, doctor," Barnabas replied courteously. "I do feel rejuvenated, thanks to Dr. Hoffman."
Dr. Woodard laid his knowing eyes on Julia. "You've worked quite a miracle on him, haven't you, Julia?"
"Yes." Julia merely nodded.
"I'd like to hear more about that," said Dr. Woodard. "But I must examine David first." He then slid his gaze to the young maid. "Hello, Maggie. You and Willie are doing well, I hope."
"Yes," Maggie replied.
The doctor hung up his coat on the coat rack.
"I'll take you up to David," Elizabeth told him.
"Well, I'll see you all later," said Dr. Woodard.
He followed Elizabeth up the staircase, carrying his dependable medical bag with him.
Once they were gone, Barnabas turned to Maggie. "You may direct me to Angelique's room."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Barnabas," said Maggie. "We can't risk her doing something awful to you, especially now that Dr. Hoffman has made all this progress."
"I agree," Julia concurred. "I don't want to risk you."
"As I stated earlier, I fully intend to pay Mrs. Collins a visit," said Barnabas. "She's made my family suffer for far too long. David wouldn't be ill right now if it wasn't for her. She tortured my dear Sarah this way."
"She tortured Sarah?" Maggie's stunned voice was barely audible.
"It was all a sick demented trick to force me to marry her," Barnabas said emotionally.
Maggie looked at him softly and a little warily. The Barnabas Collins she knew was powerful, unstoppable, and devoid of reasonable human emotion. It was hard to imagine him ever being gullible or vulnerable. It was also equally shocking to hear that Barnabas actually married that woman.
Was that why Barnabas didn't end up with Josette, and Josette in turn married Jeremiah?
"There is nothing I can do to stop you?" Julia said to her prized subject.
"Nothing," Barnabas told her sternly. "Take me to her room, Maggie."
Maggie heaved a defeated sigh, and said reluctantly, "All right, this way."
Barnabas and Julia followed the young maid up to the second story. Winding down a series of shadowy corridors, they stopped at one of the shut bedroom doors.
"This is her room," Maggie whispered.
"I will face her alone," Barnabas said quietly.
"Barnabas, you can't!" Julia hissed.
"This is between me and her," Barnabas told the doctor narrowly. "I must do this alone."
With that, Barnabas opened the door and invited himself into the bedroom. He shut Julia and Maggie out in the corridor.
"Maggie, get Willie," Julia ordered seriously. "Barnabas is in trouble, and we must help him."
Inside the bleak bedroom, Barnabas found himself alone with his former wife, who stood before the window, peering through the frosted glass with her back turned to him. Her head was still veiled in lacy black, concealing her features.
Barnabas glanced at her portrait by the shut door, and realized why she was hiding her face. Her counterpart looked ghastly. The woman in the portrait was no longer young, powerful, and beautiful. She was an ugly old hag with nearly melted skin, sagging eyes, and white matted hair. She was completely unrecognizable.
"I've been expecting you, Barnabas," the witch spoke in a high-pitched withering voice.
Her back was still turned to him, peering out the window.
Barnabas moved away from the door and ventured toward the portrait. "It is always inevitable that we meet." He closely inspected the altered portrait.
"Yes, it is always inevitable." The witch was still peering out the window.
"I see some alterations have been made to your portrait," observed Barnabas.
"Courtesy of Ben Stokes." The witch finally turned away from the window.
She stared at her former husband with veiled eyes. Barnabas could tell through the black lace that an ancient woman was behind the veil.
"It is fitting, considering you enslaved Ben and mistreated him," gloated Barnabas.
"As did you after my curse," Cassandra countered. "Like how you mistreated Willie and Maggie."
"You made me into a monster!" Barnabas spat.
Cassandra casually strolled over to the dresser. "You were pretty monstrous when you broke my heart in Martinique, and you were an ordinary man."
"I was in love with Josette," Barnabas argued.
"Don't deny what we had!" Cassandra said crossly. "You showered me with gifts, and snuck me off for private rendezvous. You took me into your bed, and told me you loved me."
"I shouldn't have done that," Barnabas said uneasily.
"Don't pretend it didn't happen," Cassandra said vehemently.
"I am guilty of deceiving you," Barnabas conceded. "But that however does not permit you to recklessly destroy my entire family! My mother, my sister... my Josette... have all needlessly perished because of you!"
"But that doesn't prevent them from protecting you from me," said Cassandra. "They're all extracting their revenge against me from beyond the grave, and protecting you in the process. I wonder why you are not showing any gratitude for that."
"I can hardly say I pity you." Barnabas ignored her snipe.
"Of course not," Cassandra murmured. "You didn't pity me then. Why should you start now?"
Barnabas didn't say anything. He looked at her narrowly.
"I will never earn your forgiveness, will I?" said Cassandra.
"You destroyed my family," Barnabas said bluntly. "You are a monster."
"Yes." Cassandra gazed down to the floor. "And I in turn transformed you into one. Look at us now, existing impossibly in another century. But in spite of that, I am going to die alone. None of us are ever truly invincible in the end."
Cassandra opened a drawer from the antique dresser, and drew out Roger's pistol. Checking to see if it was loaded, she pointed it at her former husband. "You are free from my curse now, Barnabas. You may yet be granted a human death after all."
Barnabas' heart pounded panically. He had absolutely no defense from this.
Before he could respond, the bedroom door swung opened. Julia entered the room, petrified by the sight of the veiled woman aiming a pistol at her prized patient. Cassandra didn't even flinch. Her hidden emotional gaze was locked directly on Barnabas. She didn't even realized Julia was there.
The doctor quickly regained her composure, and said calmly, "Put down the gun, Mrs. Collins. You don't want to do this."
Cassandra didn't register that she was being spoken to. Her mind kept wandering back to that special time in Martinique - how she first met Barnabas on that sandy beach.
Julia slowly approached her with a cautious stance. "Mrs. Collins, I have successfully cured Barnabas. If you will allow me, I can help you, too."
But Cassandra was still on that beach in Martinique, strolling under the sunset with the man she grown to love. To her complete horror and utter fury, she found she loved him still!
"Put down the gun, Mrs. Collins," Julia repeated as she came closer.
But Cassandra was paralyzed by her strong feelings for Barnabas, and their forbidden romance on that island. She couldn't squeeze the trigger. She felt she honestly couldn't go through with this.
Carefully and gingerly, Julia retrieved a syringe from the pocket of her sweater. She stealthily stabbed the distracted witch in the neck with the small needle. Feeling herself growing woozy from the stealth injection, Cassandra carelessly dropped the pistol to the floor, which fortunately, didn't go off. The room spun around her in a nauseating blur. She was already unconscious when she collapsed to the floor.
Barnabas' eyes widened. "What did you do to her?"
"Gave her a sedative," Julia answered stoically.
Willie and Maggie rushed through the open bedroom door from out in the dreary corridor. They were shocked to find a veiled woman unconscious on the floor by a pistol.
"What on earth?" Maggie gasped.
"What's happenin' here, Barnabas?" Willie muttered warily.
"Call for an ambulance, Willie," ordered Julia. "We're taking the witch to Windcliff."
Next Chapter: A Secret in the West Wing