Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis production and not mine
CHAPTER 14: A STARTLING COMMAND
"Petofi commissioned a local painter to draw up this sketch," reported the ghost of Tim Shaw.
"This is what we found in his cottage," Rachel Drummond's ghost supplied politely by Tim's side.
In the darkened West Wing, the ghost of Beth Chavez closely examined the sketch drawing of Quentin Collins. She tightly held the sketch between her long fingers. Her emotional eyes never left the expertly detailed sketch of her reckless former lover. She studied every line of his handsome features, taking in his dark wavy hair, his pointed sideburns and penetrating eyes. There was absolutely no doubt to this melancholy spirit that this sketch was her Quentin.
The three ghosts haunted beside an arch window outside the forbidden corridor. Their white glow illuminated the gothic darkness. It was the middle of the night and the living inhabitants of the Great House had likely retired to bed.
Quentin's music played lowly. It wasn't as destructive as earlier, but it lingered like a low rumble. It felt like something of an aftershock from a massive earthquake.
"Petofi wanted a portrait of Quentin in 1897," Tim reminded Beth. "Do you have any idea why? Back then I didn't know what his intentions were."
"He always harbored a great empathy for Quentin." Beth lifted her gaze from the sketch in her grasp. "Petofi was a werewolf a hundred and seventy years ago."
"I didn't know he was a werewolf," said Tim.
"Is he really that old?" Rachel said astonished.
"I knew he was over a hundred when I met him in life," Tim said to her soberly. "He is after all a warlock."
"He wanted a portrait of Quentin," exclaimed Beth. "He commissioned an artist named Charles Delaware Tate to create it. Mr. Tate was attacked by the werewolf." Beth lowered her gaze sadly to the dusty floor. "The portrait was never finished."
"So, Petofi wants to resume the creation of Quentin's portrait," surmised Tim.
"Whatever for?" Rachel creased her brow. "Quentin is dead and his ghost is sealed behind the wall."
"I never understood why Petofi wanted the portrait," Beth admitted. "That was never really clear to me or to Quentin."
"Should we try to prevent this," Tim proposed. "We took the sketch, but surely that won't prevent the painter from simply drawing another one."
"Mr. Carl should be here with Magda and Sandor Rokosi soon," said Beth. "I need them to help restore order in this Wing."
"I hope they will," said Rachel. "We heard that man Burke Devlin telling his friends how he and his fiancée saw a vision of Quentin from the past. His spirit is surely getting stronger."
"They could also help in getting rid of Petofi," suggested Tim. "The gypsies chopped off his hand. The very hand I used to seek my revenge. Petofi has a great fear and loathing of gypsies."
"How long will it take for Carl to find Magda and Sandor?" queried Rachel.
Beth returned her blue gaze to the sketch. "Hopefully not too long."
She found herself mesmerized by how the artist perfectly captured her former lover's devilish countenance.
The typical foggy, winter morning had once again dawned on the Evans cottage, as Sam flipped through a worn sketchbook in the living room containing his collection of personal sketches. He snapped the book shut, frustrated by his fruitless search.
"Damn it all," he spat.
Maggie received an earful of that as she emerged from the kitchen. She was dressed for work at Collinwood.
"Is there something the matter, Pop?"
Sam irritably tossed his sketchbook to the cluttered coffee table.
"Oh, I seem to have misplaced the sketch drawing for the portrait Victor Fenn-Gibbon commissioned." The artist let out a disappointed sigh.
Maggie strode up to him at the coffee table, and inquired, "What is it a sketch of?"
"Oh, it's of a man with long pointed sideburns," Sam explained. "He's from the Victorian era. The man with the forgotten legacy Victor wants to restore."
"Does he have sharp eyes?" Maggie pressed.
"Why, yes," Sam confirmed.
"Willie and I saw the sketch last night," Maggie exclaimed. "It was laying on the coffee table. I thought it was the portrait Mr. Fenn-Gibbon hired you to create."
"I thought I left it on the coffee table." Sam gazed down on that specified furniture, and rubbed his furry chin, thinking deeply. "Did you or Willie so happen to move it somewhere else?"
"I don't think so," Maggie answered. "I swear we put it right back on the coffee table."
Sam sighed, and said, "I suppose I better draw up a new one."
"That might be for the best, Pop," Maggie agreed. "There was something wrong with the man you drew."
"What was wrong with him?" Sam asked her.
"I don't really know," Maggie admitted sheepishly. "I merely thought he looked unnecessarily – wicked."
"You know, when I worked on Barnabas Collins' portrait, I knew there was something wrong with his eyes," Sam recalled. "I remember how soulless they were. Black. There wasn't any light or warmth in them."
"Are you picking up that same feeling from this subject?" Maggie asked him.
"I don't think it's precisely the same feeling," explained Sam. "But there is something not quite right with that man's eyes. They look like some fierce animal."
A polite rapping from the front door interrupted their conversation. Before father or daughter could react, Willie raced out from the bathroom, dressed in his burgundy sweatshirt and jeans. He dutifully answered the door.
"Our butler at work," Sam remarked to Maggie lightly.
Once Willie opened the door, his face dropped dramatically at the sight of the visitors. They were not the kind of people he wanted to visit them unexpectedly on a weekday morning. Plus the sight of his former master existing in the daylight still really creeped him out.
"Barnabas, Julia," he muttered.
"What brings you to our neck of the woods, Mr. Collins?" Sam snipped from inside the cottage.
"I'd like to speak with Willie," Barnabas said importantly from the doorstep. "It is of the utmost importance."
"Then why don't you relay this urgency up at Collinwood," Sam said heatedly. "My daughter and Willie may have agreed to help you, but you are not welcome in this house!"
"Pop, let's see what he wants." Maggie placed a calming hand on his tense shoulder. "The witch is locked up at Windcliff," she whispered to him. "And Julia cured him of his vampirism. We are close to getting him out of our lives for good."
For a few heavy moments, Sam took in her words. Slumping his shoulders in a resigned posture, he relented. "Let them in, Willie."
The former vampire slave somberly allowed the visitors to cross the threshold and shut the door.
"Willie and I will deal with them," Maggie whispered to Sam. "I'll call when I need you."
Sam stared at his daughter with great confliction, but nodded begrudgingly. "Very well. You will call, won't you?"
"Yes, of course, I will," Maggie squeezed his arm reassuringly. "When I need you."
The artist lowered his gaze and nodded again. He reluctantly stepped into the kitchen.
"You might as well join him, Maggie." Barnabas stood by the couch with his cane. "I have a distinct feeling you will detest what I must have Willie do."
"Whatever you have to say to Willie, you can say to me." Maggie tightly crossed her arms over her chest, staring down her former tormentor daringly. "Don't forget that I'm helping you, too."
"You won't convince her to leave this room, Barnabas," said Julia in a bored, practical tone. "She has been a part of this since your reappearance."
"Besides, you can't bite me or hypnotize me," Maggie shot at him.
"I see you take great pleasure in my mortal disabilities," Barnabas noted.
"Not near as much pleasure as you took in using your supernatural abilities," Maggie countered.
"What d'ya want, Barnabas?" Willie cut in.
"Willie, I'm afraid we must settle matters with Joe Haskell," Barnabas exclaimed.
"What do you want with Joe?" Maggie demanded hotly.
"What's happenin', Barnabas." Willie's eyes swirled like a darkened storm.
"Yesterday afternoon when Angelique was carted away to the asylum, young Haskell attempted to assault me with a shovel," Barnabas explained coolly.
"Why would Joe want to attack you with a shovel?" Maggie said in total disbelief. "He doesn't even know how horrible you are."
"I advise you to hold your tongue, Miss Evans," Barnabas warned. "And to answer your graceless question, it is because Haskell has fallen under Angelique's spell. He is her servant."
"Wha-What?" Maggie spluttered. "No, he can't be."
"She called for me, Maggie," Willie murmured reasonably. "She called me against my will. But I work for Barnabas and Josette, so the witch can't have me. Joe's perfect witch bait."
"I can't believe this," Maggie murmured.
"Maggie, has Joe acted not himself lately?" Julia inquired.
Maggie wordlessly recalled her and Willie's uncomfortable last encounter with Joe at Collinwood after they were rescued from the haunted tower room. Joe acted cold and distant. Maggie figured that was because she left him after her kidnapping ordeal and started a relationship with Willie. His bitterness was her fault. She knew that would make him a perfect target for Angelique. The witch took full advantage of him.
"Well, judging by your lack of response, I'll say Joe has been acting peculiar," concluded Julia.
Maggie gave the doctor a silent look.
"What d'ya wanna do with Haskell, Barnabas?" Willie muttered.
"I'd like for you to apprehend him so Julia may enable his mind to reject Angelique's control," said Barnabas.
"How can you possibly do that?" Maggie asked Julia.
"Through hypnosis," claimed Julia.
"Ya can do that, doctor?" Willie looked at her with a mixture of amazement and fear.
"I have experience," Julia said vaguely.
"She knows how to cure vampirism," Maggie said to Willie calmly. "It can't be that far-fetched for her to also know hypnosis."
With that, Josette's order to Maggie and Willie to not let Barnabas or Julia know about their knowledge of the hauntings in the West Wing rang alarmingly through Maggie's mind. Maggie and Willie knew about those hauntings before, but inexplicably forgot them. Maggie looked at Julia knowingly. The woman doctor just revealed to them she knew how to perform hypnosis. She could control people's minds. Likely, she'd controlled Maggie and Willie's minds before.
"There's no need to make me sound like some mentalist, Maggie," Julia said modestly.
"But y'know some really scary stuff, doctor," Willie reasoned pointedly.
"Nevertheless, we can not permit Joe to interfere with my plans," Barnabas said directly.
"Will this really help protect Joe from the witch?" Maggie looked at Julia more closely.
"I believe it has a good chance to help him," said Julia. "Angelique's body is deteriorating. Her powers surely will follow."
Maggie took in her words. She deeply hoped this really would help Joe. He didn't deserve to be supernaturally brainwashed like she'd been by Barnabas. This likely wouldn't change the hurt awkwardness between them, but she wanted to at least help him get his own mind back.
"Tom told me last night that Joe is the Collins' new handyman," Maggie informed Willie. "It's very unlike him to quit his job the way he did."
"He wants to get close to his master," Willie muttered in a knowing voice. "He's gotta serve her." Willie knew what he was talking about. He had been where Joe was. So had Maggie in a sense.
"We can surely find him on the Collins grounds, and Julia can work her wonders," said Maggie.
"Maggie, the witch ain't at Collinwood anymore," Willie exclaimed. "He knows she needs his help, and he's gotta get close to her."
Maggie's eyes darkened. She dreadfully realized where she and Willie must go in order to find Joe.
Up at Collinwood, Vicki finished a low-key breakfast with Elizabeth and Carolyn. Mrs. Johnson only had to serve the three of them. David was still sick in bed, while Roger slept off a massive hangover. After completing their breakfast of cinnamon oatmeal, Elizabeth, smelling like a fresh sea breeze, walked Vicki and Carolyn to the side door leading into the foyer.
"I'd like for you girls to keep safe on the roads," Elizabeth told them in a maternal tone.
Vicki and Carolyn were getting ready to attend Prof. Stokes' latest lecture at the college.
"We'll be alright, Mother," insisted Carolyn.
"You two are so grown-up." Elizabeth beamed proudly. "Attending a college lecture."
"I don't think you would agree that the subject matter is so grown-up," remarked Vicki.
She and Carolyn hadn't told the matriarch what Prof. Stokes taught. Before Elizabeth had the chance to ask her secret illegitimate daughter to clarify her statement, the three stepped out into the foyer. They encountered a sight that joyously amazed their eyes.
David was out of his bed. He sat in the middle of the cold flagstone floor in the foyer, dressed in his warm flannel pajamas, slippers and house robe. His hair was sticking up, signifying that he just crawled out of bed. He played with a noisy toy robot, which slowly maneuvered across the cold stone floor. It brightly flashed its lights and made loud squeaking noises.
"David!" Vicki cried.
"David!" Elizabeth shared the governess' joy.
The boy glanced up at them. He looked tremendously better than he had for the past few days. His eyes were less misty, and his face was less clammy and pale. He still appeared to be a little under the weather, but at least he didn't look like he was staring death in the face.
"David!" Vicki cried again, rushing to her charge with the just as anxious Elizabeth hurrying up beside her. They both knelt down to the boy, as Carolyn observed from the background.
"How are you feeling, David?" Elizabeth gently asked her nephew.
"Better," answered the boy. His voice sounded stronger but there was still a tad of weakness clinging to it. "I slept for a long time, and when I woke up, I finally felt well enough to get out of bed."
"Dr. Woodard's prescriptions must be working," Elizabeth said hopefully.
"I guess so." David crookedly stared down at his now immobile and silent robot. "I think the witch leaving made me better."
"Do you honestly think Cassandra is a witch?" Carolyn spoke behind Vicki and Elizabeth.
"I know she is!" David said defensively. "She attacked me with her black magic. That's why I got sick." He looked at the matriarch and the governess pleadingly. "You two believe me, don't you? I think Dr. Woodard did."
"I believe Cassandra did something to you," Elizabeth assured him.
"She's not coming back, is she?" David whimpered.
"No." Elizabeth stroked his messy bed-head, and then stood up. "I'll have Mrs. Johnson prepare your breakfast. Are you feeling hungry?"
"I don't really know," David answered honestly. "I guess I can try."
"All right." As Elizabeth strode back to the kitchen, Vicki explained to her charge, "David, Carolyn and I are going up to the college. We should be back by the end of the day. I want you to take it easy while we're gone. No sneaking off into secret passageways, or wandering off in the West Wing."
"Do I have to?" David pouted. "For the first time in days, I don't feel like I'm going to join Sarah haunting this place."
"David." Vicki looked at him sternly. "You better not talk like that in front of your aunt. And you need to save your strengths."
Reading the serious look in her eyes, David let out a defeated sigh and slumped his shoulders. "Oh, okay."
"Thank you," Vicki said to him.
A knock sounded off at the front doors, echoing off the paneled, stone walls.
"I'll answer it." Carolyn strolled to the doors and brightly opened them.
"Good morning, Carolyn." Burke grinned from the doorstep, dressed in his long expensive black winter coat and scarf.
"Good morning, Burke," replied Carolyn.
"Burke!" David shot up to his feet ecstatically, and dashed up to the front doors as though he had on a fueled up jet pack.
"Davey!" Burke was surprised by how well David looked, as the boy wrapped his arms tightly around his waist. Just as quickly he released Burke.
"I feel so much better, Burke," David said happily.
Vicki collected the toy robot and asked her charge, "Why don't you go to the kitchen and see what Mrs. Johnson is preparing for you."
"Okay." David glanced up at Burke excitedly. "May I help you out in the West Wing later?"
"I really don't know, David," Burke responded unsurely.
"David, you just promised me that you were going to take it easy today," Vicki scolded. "We all want you to feel completely well for Christmas."
"Fine." David huffed.
"Go to the kitchen and get ready for breakfast," Vicki ordered.
Burke gently squeezed David's shoulder. "I'll come and see you in your room later," he promised.
The boy smiled broadly. "Okay."
As he went up to Vicki, the governess smiled warmly and handed him his toy robot.
"Here's Robo," she said. "Make sure no one trips on him."
"He wouldn't do that."
She watched the boy make his way through the side door. Once he exited the foyer, Burke properly entered the gloomy ancestral mansion and shut its doors.
"Vicki told me last night about you two's wild trip to the past," Carolyn said conversationally, as Burke took off his coat and scarf, placing them on the coat rack.
"Are you going to be on the lookout for more of those time traveling shadows?" the heiress inquired of the businessman in a bubbly voice.
"That's pretty much the idea," Burke explained to her. "Considering we're renovating its domain."
"Vicki and I are on our way to the college to see Prof. Stokes," Carolyn told Burke. "He's seemingly an expert on supernatural spooks."
"I know, Vicki told me last night on the phone before we went to bed," said Burke. "I don't know what to make of this guy."
"I'm hoping he can help us like Dr. Guthrie did with David and Laura," Vicki exclaimed.
At that, Burke lowered his head in remembrance. The late Dr. Peter Guthrie was a parapsychologist who lost his life in the midst of the Laura situation. He was a good man who organized a couple of séances. Burke felt a little spooked since Dr. Guthrie was mentioned the night before at the Blue Whale when he was talking to Dr. Woodward and Sam.
Vicki broke through his somber thoughts. "I should be home by the end of the day. I'll see you then."
The next thing Burke knew, Vicki was directly in front of him, tenderly tilting up his chin with her fingers. He met her soft beautiful eyes.
"I want you to be careful in the West Wing," she told him.
"I'll steer clear of any sinister time traveling shadows," he promised her lightly.
Her fingers were still held to his squared chin. He tenderly laced her fingers with his and brought them to his lips.
"But you be careful, too," he said. "The roads are pretty slick."
"We'll be careful," said Vicki.
They shared a quick goodbye kiss, and Burke watched his fiancée put on her winter coat.
"Hey, Burke," Carolyn said, as she slipped on her own acid green coat. "By any chance, have you seen Joe on the grounds?"
"Why would I see Joe here?" The businessman frowned.
"He's our new handyman," Carolyn explained. "He should be out there by now performing routine maintenance. I'm hoping to see him real quick before we head for the college."
"I didn't spot Joe on the grounds when I drove up." Burke shrugged.
Carolyn let out a sigh of disappointment. "I sincerely hope he's not somewhere he shouldn't be."
Joe Haskell blankly signed his signature on a clipboard. He had signed on to become a volunteer maintenance man at Windcliff Sanitarium.
"I greatly appreciate your generosity to help out with the upkeep of this hospital," Nurse Betty Sloan told Joe pleasantly at the nurse station. She was a friendly looking older woman with short black hair, brown eyes and a pale complexion. "We are always looking for extra help."
"Well, I wholeheartedly believe the poor souls here deserve all the help and sympathy they can get." Joe grinned weakly.
"Absolutely," agreed Nurse Sloan admiringly. "I wish there were more good-hearted people like you, Mr. Haskell. Our janitor Cyrus Longworth is such a greasy sourpuss compared to you."
"Oh please, call me Joe."
After going through the schedule with Nurse Sloan, Joe wandered the bleak white corridors alone. He silently observed some of the mental patients draped in their plain robes, maneuvering around with the help of their nurses. The patients held no glimmer of light in their shaded eyes. They were sad, hopeless and unhinged. Strikingly, Joe's own eyes mirrored that exact same empty bleakness. He tried not to look conspicuous. No need to have the people who work here suspect he was smuggling drugs out of the hospital and such. He needed to sneak around carefully.
"Joe." A small disembodied voice lowly echoed in his ear. "Why are you here?"
It was a flaky voice. It could only belong to the ghost of Millicent. He couldn't see her, but he sensed a chilly presence tingling down the back of his neck.
"You know why I need to be here." Joe's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Oh, Joe," Millicent's voice said woefully. "Did she somehow beckon you?"
"She didn't have to," Joe whispered. "She's locked up in this place unfairly. She needs me."
In a startling flash, a man in a eighteenth-century blue naval uniform blocked Joe in his tracks. He held a hard disgusted look in his fierce blue eyes. Joe had seen this phantom before. He was physically identical to him.
The hopeless wanderers of the corridors, as well as their nurses, detected nothing amiss. They didn't seem to sense any other presence from another lifetime.
"Sailor, when will you learn to avert your attention from a conquest once all of the delights have been duly sampled?" he taunted.
Joe stared at him blankly. He then sidestepped the bullying ghost and desperately tried to sense the whereabouts of his distressed mistress.
Downstairs in the lobby, Willie and Maggie entered the mental institution in stony silence. They hadn't uttered a word to each other during the long drive up to the hospital. Willie visibly dreaded dealing with his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend.
Sensing this, Maggie inhaled a soft breath, and whispered, "It's going to be alright, Willie."
He glanced at her wordlessly, as they both stopped in the middle of the lobby.
"The witch is practically beaten." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tenderly. "Once we break Joe out of her spell, it should be easy for Barnabas and Julia to get rid of her for good. Joe can go on with his life with a clean slate, and we'll go on with ours."
Touched by her optimism and reassurance on where he stands with her, Willie warmly squeezed Maggie's hand in return.
"Hi, Willie. Hi, Maggie." Nurse Jackson cheerily approached them in the lobby.
The couple became acquainted with the nurse after their rescue from the Old House. They used to come to Windcliff to have their therapy sessions with Julia. (And she in turn was seeking valuable information on Barnabas.)
"Hi, Nurse Jackson," Maggie replied, with her hand still warmly holding Willie's.
"I don't think Dr. Hoffman is in at the moment," the nurse reported to the pair.
"We're not here to see her," Maggie exclaimed, wondering how far along Barnabas and Julia were on their way to the hospital. She and Willie had a head start on them. Barnabas was extremely wary when it came to traveling in cars. No longer having flight or teleportation was also something he was not accustomed to.
"We're looking for a man named Joe Haskell. He's tall with dark hair and blue eyes. We heard he's visiting here."
"I think I have seen a man fitting that description," said the nurse. "He's very good looking. He was signing up to be a maintenance man here."
With their hands still clasps, Maggie and Willie shared a silent look.
"Where'd he be sign on to?" Willie finally spoke since entering the hospital.
"He should be on the second floor," said Nurse Jackson. "That's where we sign up new people."
"Thank you," Maggie told her.
The couple traveled to the second floor but found no sign of Joe. They then searched around the floor for about twenty minutes, but there was still no sign of him. The nurses they questioned were no help, but they clumsily collide into a janitor and his cluttered cart of cleaning supplies as they rounded into the next corridor.
"Oh, we're sorry," Maggie apologized sincerely.
"Oh, no harm done, ma'am," the janitor responded insolently.
Maggie took in his unusual matted blonde hair and greasy face. The name tag on his gray jumpsuit read "Cyrus."
"Yeah, no harm here, either," Willie retorted, just short of a sneer.
"Maybe you can help us," Maggie said steadily to the janitor. "We're looking for a dark-haired man with blue eyes. He's tall and well built."
"I saw a guy like that," said the janitor with a crooked smirk. "He had a strange look on his face."
"Yeah, that's the guy," Willie muttered.
Maggie shot him a quick narrow look, then returned her attention to the janitor. "Where did you see him?"
"I don't know for sure." The janitor shrugged. "I guess it was near the East Wing."
Maggie was less then reassured by the janitor's sketchy memory, but said, "Okay, thank you."
"I don't get why he'd want to go there," said the janitor. "That's where they keep the psychopaths."
Those words weighed Maggie down heavily. The witch was likely imprisoned there. She again thanked the janitor, and she and Willie hurried on their way.
In her gray and dismal padded cell, Angelique was practically a living corpse. Her rough wrinkly and saggy complexion became grossly pale. With her ancient face and white rotting hair, she might as well be a zombie thrashing out of her grave.
Josette's tingling music box melody succeeded in preventing the witch from sleeping through the night. That seemed to have made her age even more. Her once fierce and fiery eyes were now bloodshot and droopy. The muscle relaxants still swam in her system.
The ghost of Josette closely examined the hag's face.
"Even with all of your dark evil magic you are vulnerable," the ghost said evenly. "Even your body can be abused. How much physical torment can you honestly withstand?"
"Ms. Josette!" The ghost of Ben Stokes swooped through the padded wall behind Angelique with an excited smile stretched on his meaty lips. "Ms. Josette!"
"Ben!" Josette glanced up at him anxiously.
Ben flew down to her and happily reported, "Ms. Josette, I just left Collinwood. The boy David looks to be well. He seems to be recoverin'."
"Oh, that's wonderful news, Ben," Josette breathed relieved.
Ben dropped his gaze on the ugly hag.
"Yer horrors and terror are finally endin'!" he spat at her boldly. "Soon you'll be gone fer good. Hopefully forever!"
Something caught Angelique's attention that threw the ghosts off guard. A tiny glimmer delicately sparked in her eyes. A glimmer of hope.
Joe Haskell peered through the small window on the door of her cell. His eyes were wide and horror-struck. Despite her haggard, unrecognizable appearance, Joe knew his mistress. He felt deep in his bones she was his mistress. They shared an intimate and unexplained connection. Deep down he couldn't understand it, but he didn't really want to. He couldn't see the ghosts haunting her, or hear the tingling music. He banged on the sturdy door desperately.
"Mrs. Collins!" He violently wiggled the door knob, but it was locked tightly. He peered through the window again, gazing at his decaying mistress helplessly.
"Oh, what did Barnabas Collins do to you," he whimpered despairingly. "I have to get you out of here."
"Haskell." A heated drawl came down to him from up the deserted corridor. A loathsome Brooklyn accent.
Joe trailed his gaze up the corridor and found Willie and Maggie standing together staring at him.
"Maggie, Loomis," he bit off bitterly, his eyes sharp as a blade.
"Joe, what are you doing here?" Maggie asked gently.
"Don't play innocent with me, Maggie!" Joe spat. "I know you and Loomis work for Barnabas Collins."
Maggie jolted. "What?"
"She told me everything," Joe said furiously. "She told me Barnabas Collins took you from me and your father, and that's why you left me for Loomis!"
"The-The witch told you what Barnabas did to me?" Maggie spluttered.
At this, Willie simply watched Joe and Maggie quietly.
"Don't call her a witch, Maggie!" Joe snapped manically. "What gave you that right?! Do you have any idea what he did to her? How he hurt her? Now it seems he's hurt me, too."
"And he hurt me, Joe!" Maggie countered emotionally. "He kidnapped me and violated me! He tried to make me lose my mind and he hurt Willie, too!"
"Then why the hell are you two working for him then!" Joe yelled shakily. "Don't you see what he's doing to her!" He indicated the cell door. "It's not right for him to keep on hurting people!"
"I agree," Maggie said calmly. "Willie and I are trying to get rid of him."
Joe scoffed spitefully. "You two are doing a fine job with that!"
"The woman you're working for isn't any better, Joe," Maggie said steadily. "She's a witch who cursed Barnabas and his family a long time ago. They're Carolyn's ancestors."
"Stop calling her a witch, Maggie!" Joe stomped up to her threateningly, but Willie blocked him from her.
"Don't ya hurt her, Haskell," Willie spat. "She's tryin' to help ya."
Joe laughed maliciously in his face. "You know, if it weren't for Barnabas Collins, Maggie would never give trash like you a second glance."
Willie never needed much of a reason to slug Joe Haskell. He'd never bought his milk drinking, boy next door tripe. Possessed by a witch or not, Willie didn't like him. And he certainly didn't like how he was treating Maggie.
"Then I guess ya witch likes trash, too." Willie arrogantly smirked at him. "She put a spell on me once."
Enraged, Joe punched him hard on the jaw.
"JOE, NO!" Maggie cried.
Willie however merely placed a hand on his busted jaw and smirked cockily. That felt good. Like being in a bar fight in the good old days with Jason.
"Oh, c'mon," Willie taunted the witch's slave. "Ya gotta face it, Joe. All your girls secretly love me."
"Pay him no mind, Joe," whispered Millicent's disembodied voice in his ear. "I care for you as a dear friend, and I am certainly not in love with this man. Neither secretly or openly."
Ignoring the well meaning voice, Joe attempted to punch Willie again, but Willie swiftly blocked it.
"Willie, what are you doing?" Maggie said perturbed. "Why are you trying to provoke him?"
The two men ignored her, allowing their testosterone to take over. But an annoyed authoritative voice sliced through the air. "Willie, I thought I ordered you to apprehend Haskell."
Maggie looked over her shoulder. Barnabas and Julia had finally caught up to them.
"I'm tryin', Barnabas." Willie scuffled roughly with Joe, who rammed him hard against the wall. Willie figured he'd learned that move when he was quarterback of his high school football team. The punk inwardly thought this pretty boy always practically screamed former high school quarterback.
Joe rammed Willie roughly against the wall repeatedly, knocking the very wind out of him.
"Doctor." Barnabas looked at Julia expectantly.
The lady doctor retrieved her trusty syringe from her medical bag.
"Joe, stop!" Maggie yelled at him, as he continuously rammed Willie against the wall.
"Stay out of it, Maggie!" Joe snapped, slamming Willie against the opposite wall.
Julia silently snuck up behind Joe and stabbed his bare neck with her needle. He immediately dropped his tight grip on Willie and collapsed to the floor. He fell unconscious. Willie stood wobbly on his heels, his sandy hair mussed up.
"What did you do to Joe?" Maggie asked Julia hysterically.
"Gave him a sedative," answered the doctor simply.
"Willie, take Haskell into Julia's office," Barnabas commanded, not noticing or caring that his former slave was still dazed on his feet.
"Barnabas, the witch told Joe what you did to me," Maggie murmured.
But Julia spoke up professionally, "I'll take care of him, Maggie."
"Will your hypnosis really work?" Maggie's voice echoed. "He could reveal what Barnabas is – or was."
"I take care of Barnabas, Maggie," Julia said resolutely. "You help Willie get Joe to my office. If any nurse or doctor ask you two what you are doing dragging Joe around, tell them he's my patient and you two are helping me."
"Afterwards, you two report for your duties at Collinwood," Barnabas added.
Maggie said nothing. She always felt there was something eerie about Julia. What questionable lengths would she be willing go to in her deep devotion for Barnabas? Maggie would like nothing more than for those two to leave Collinsport forever. She silently helped the still woozy Willie to drag Joe down the corridor. It was amazing no one else stumbled onto this juvenile cock fight. Maggie grabbed her ex-boyfriend by his limp arms, while Willie grudgingly dragged him by his long legs.
"Willie, what was that between you and Joe?" Maggie hissed.
"I don't like him, Maggie," Willie hissed back resentfully. "I don't care a witch is messin' his head, I never liked him, and I didn't like how he was treatin' you just now."
With those stinging words hanging between them, Willie and Maggie dragged Joe out of the white depressing corridor, leaving Barnabas and Julia alone. The former vampire approached the cell door of his former wife.
"I'd like to pay Angelique a visit," he said to Julia conversationally.
"You think you can handle seeing her?" asked Julia. "We have her fully sedated and she's not real responsive at the moment."
Barnabas peered through the door's small window. He found his ancient and unresponsive former wife sitting across the cell strapped up in a straitjacket. Her drugged up eyes somehow met his cold dark ones. Despite her heavy medication, Angelique acknowledged his presence. Barnabas was certain of it.
"I can handle her, doctor," Barnabas proclaimed, his dark eyes never leaving the witch.
"I'd like for you to wait a bit," said Julia.
After a long and uneventful trip, Vicki and Carolyn stepped off the bus they'd boarded from the Collinsport Inn. They'd arrived at the college. The entire grounds were blanketed by thick snow, except for the walkways so the students, professors, and other assorted employees could make their way through. The paths were deserted. The winter cooped everyone inside the buildings.
Bundled up in their coats, Vicki and Carolyn headed inside. They met up with Carolyn's friend Donna, who waited for their arrival in the lobby. She was a young woman who was tall, slender, with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a long white skirt with matching heels and a blue sweater. She greeted Carolyn giddily, and the heiress introduced her college pal to the governess.
"Hello, Vicki. Carolyn told me so much about you." Donna flashed out a bright welcoming smile.
"It's very nice to meet you," Vicki replied presently, shaking the college girl's hand. "Where will Prof. Stokes give his lecture?"
"In his classroom," Donna replied helpfully. "The professor is always open to guests."
Donna gave them a tour of the campus. It was a fairly modest school. It was no prestigious university, but it wasn't trying to be. It had a respectable library, a gym, a cafeteria and plenty of classrooms. It prided itself on being a simple small town collage.
"How do you like living in Collinwood, Vicki?" Donna asked suddenly, as they made their way down a crowded corridor.
"It feels like a home," Vicki answered a little reserved.
"I've always wanted to live in a spooky ancestral mansion," Donna gushed. "The past really fascinates me."
Be careful what you wish for, Vicki thought glumly.
Carolyn steered the conversation to shopping, especially in luxurious places such as Boston and Bangor. Donna enthusiastically took part in that. With that common character trait, Vicki could see why Carolyn and Donna were friends.
"So, Prof. Stokes," Vicki said to the collage girl. "What is he like?"
"An absolute sensation." Donna beamed. "His classes are always so animated."
"Really?" Vicki responded.
By one o'clock in the afternoon, the three young women filed into the relatively small classroom. Vicki wondered if it was a sign that the faculty did not take the teachings of Prof. Stokes seriously. Not much of the student body thought so, either. Despite Donna's enthusiasm, Vicki counted only a dozen or so students in the class.
While the students filed in, a large lump of a figure was planted at an antique oak desk in front of the classroom, reading through an absurdly thick volume. He had gray streaks in his otherwise dull, brown hair, and had a porky figure. He wore a frumpy brown suit with a burgundy tie. A monocle was artfully placed to his left eye as he was lost in his reading.
Carolyn snickered at that. Who in this day and age actually wears a monocle?
Placed on his desk were mountains of books, a crystal ball, a Celtic cross and a small plate with slices of cheddar, pepper jack and American cheese on it.
As students filed into the classroom, some of them attempted to approach the desk to grab the professor's attention. The professor, however, was too engrossed with his rapid reading to pay these young scholars any real attention. The students appeared clearly nervous as they carefully drew nearer to the cluttered desk.
Vicki wondered if they were put up to some sort of dare to speak to the inattentive professor.
Ultimately, these fidgety students lost their nerve and shied away from the big desk. They took their seats.
Donna found a desk for Vicki and Carolyn near the back, and the two sat down. Donna herself sat in the center of the class. But once all the students found their seats there were still five other desks that were unoccupied.
Even when the students were settled, the professor didn't budge from his reading. The class door was still wide open, but no other student came in.
Prof. Stokes took some nibbles off his American cheese as he continued his intensive reading. As the clock noisily ticked the seconds away high up on the wall by the door, Vicki and Carolyn stared around the classroom from their desks. It was a cramped space filled with dusty antiques and artifacts. Vicki and Carolyn looked at Prof. Stokes impatiently. He'd yet to glance up from his volume. Vicki thought this was pretty rude. Didn't he know his class was waiting patiently for him to get started?
Just then, the professor loudly snapped shut his volume and gazed up at his students tensely.
"Well, this is quite unfortunate," he finally spoke. He had a very thick and well cultured voice. "Quite unfortunate, indeed."
"What's wrong, professor?" Donna asked from her desk.
"Well, Miss Friedlander." Prof. Stokes got up from his desk and went over to shut the class' door. "It has been brought to my attention that I am contractually obligated to teach my class in a more clinical tone before I can conduct my actual presentation."
"What does that mean?" Vicki asked from her desk.
Prof. Stokes removed the monocle from his eye. "Well - " Looking clearly at Vicki, the professor found he did not recognize her. "Excuse me, please explain who you are."
"Oh, my name is Victoria Winters." She gestured toward her silky blonde companion. "And this is Carolyn Stoddard. We're interested in your lecture."
"Carolyn Stoddard?" The professor deeply considered that name. "Are you by any chance the daughter of Elizabeth Collins Stoddard?"
"The one and only," said Carolyn with a light shrug.
"And you live in Collinwood?" The professor sounded almost giddy.
"Unfortunately," Carolyn grumbled lightly.
"How about that." The professor smiled broadly. "We have a celebrity in our midst. And she lives in quite the historical home."
Carolyn smiled thinly.
"What do you mean about teaching the class in a clinical tone, professor?" questioned Donna.
"I am required to explain the supernatural subjects in more technical terms," explained the professor. "Today we are going to delve into the ritual known as the séance."
Vicki and Carolyn shared a quick look. They had participated in a séance before.
"A séance is a gathering of a group of individuals positioned in a circle in order to communicate with the dead," the professor explained to the students, treating them as if they were two-years-old. "But there are necessary preparations that are required to conduct a successful séance. Candles are the most important element. Color candles are highly important to the welfare of your séance. If you are a Satanist who desires to contact an evil spirit, then surely black and red candles will deliver the desired effect. If you are not a Satanist and wish to communicate only with good spirits, then white candles are logically recommended. I myself prefer to use blue candles. Blue is a neutral color, and that will surely bring forth neutral spirits. I like to keep the company of neutral beings, both living and dead.
"The next element is the location of your séance," stressed the professor. "Your location is vital. It has to be a place that has experienced the supernatural. Next is the number of people in your séance. Three or four is preferable, but it can withstand eight. I find eight to be a little jumbled, however."
Vicki didn't really pay much attention to him. By the looks of it, neither did most of the class. Carolyn and two other students dozed off at their desks, while four others obviously wished they could leave. But they didn't dare move. By all accounts, his lecture was tedious and boring. Vicki had been in a séance and didn't really need to be lectured on the subject. All the while, her fellow classmates didn't seem all that interested, either.
"With the technicalities now necessarily out of the way." The professor himself sounded bored by the turn his lecture had taken. "I believe it's now time for a demonstration."
Vicki raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Winters."
"Excuse me, sir," Vicki said politely. "What do you mean by demonstration? Are you actually going to conduct a real séance?"
"Why yes, right here and now," the professor said enthusiastically.
It was Donna's turn to raise her hand. "But sir, didn't you just say that the location of the séance must have witnessed a supernatural event?"
"This quaint little college has been around for many generations," the professor boasted in a deep voice. "Through the past two centuries it has witnessed many inhuman events. Now, I need a volunteer." He set his sights on the new dark-haired girl. "How about you Miss Winters?"
Vicki placed a palm steadily to her chest. "Me?"
"Yes, to participate in my séance." The professor nodded eagerly.
"I don't mind." Vicki shrugged. "I took part in a couple séances."
Her fellow classmates reacted interestingly to this.
"And so has Carolyn," Vicki added.
"Yes, my instincts were correct in selecting you," the professor stated mysteriously. "You and Miss Stoddard please step on up here."
As Vicki got to her feet, she quickly shook Carolyn awake and made her way to the front of the class. With sleepy eyes, Carolyn followed after her friend.
Prof. Stokes set up a small round table he had put aside in the front of the classroom. He lit three candles in the center of it. (Blue of course.)
"Please, sit down," he instructed the two young women.
As Vicki and Carolyn took their chairs, Carolyn yawned and asked lightly, "So, what are we doing?"
The class chuckled amused at her ignorance.
"We are conducting a séance, Miss Stoddard," the professor answered coolly. "Miss Winters claims that this is your forte. I deeply hope you don't have the same tendency to fall asleep during a séance as you do during my lecture on the subject."
"Of course not," Carolyn insisted, shaking herself more awake.
Prof. Stokes took his seat at the table. "I need this class to fall into absolute silence." He shifted his gaze to Vicki and Carolyn. "I'd like for you two ladies to place your palms flat on the table and spread out your fingers. Your fingers need to make contact with your partner."
"We know how to do this part, professor," Carolyn exclaimed knowingly.
She and Vicki did as they were instructed. The professor did the same with his palms and fingers. Once everyone's fingers touched on the small table, the professor said, "Let us begin. We call out to a free wanderer long departed from this realm. Come and speak to us of the distant past and its many plights. Come and speak to us. We mean you no harm."
A full minute passed.
"Speak to us," the professor implored patiently. "I meant what I said, we mean you no harm."
"Perhaps we should do this at night, professor," Vicki whispered politely.
She wondered if this was becoming a rather embarrassing farce for the professor. Another minute had passed, and there was still no response from the dead.
"I humbly beseech you -" the professor's words were cut short.
A chilling moan poured out of Carolyn. Her head lolled over backwards, and then violently flung forward. Her pupils were disturbingly white, like she had fallen blind.
"Carolyn!" Vicki gasped, distressed for her friend.
But Prof. Stokes sharply warned her, "Don't break contact, Miss Winters. It could put Carolyn in great peril."
"Where is the dark-'aired governess 'o Collinwood?" An accented voice weakly spoke through Carolyn's lips.
Vicki's heart pounded dangerously as her eyes bulged. "You – you want to speak specifically to me?" she stammered, swallowing nervously. She then became hopeful. "Is that you, Josette?"
"No love," the ghost currently possessing Carolyn responded.
"Who might you be?" prodded the professor curiously.
"Why, I am Leticia Collins," the cockney voice spilled out of Carolyn.
"A Collins?" Prof. Stokes was highly intrigued. "From the famous Collins family who founded the New England town of Collinsport, Maine?"
"I married my beloved Desmond," exclaimed the possessed woman. "Tha' is why I am a Collins."
"I see," said the professor thoughtfully.
"What is it you want to tell me?" Vicki breathlessly asked the dead woman.
"I jus' knew ya gotta be the governess 'o Collinwood," piped up the dead woman. "They all mus' 'ave dark 'air."
"Are you saying you knew a governess that worked in Collinwood?" queried Vicki.
"Yeah, a different woman - long ago."
"What do you want to tell me?" Vicki asked gently.
"Wha eva you do, do not awake him," warned the ghost.
"Who?" Vicki pressed.
"The evil warlock who caused so much horror and misfortune to the Collins family," the dead woman spoke emotionally. "My family."
With a weak moan, Carolyn's creamy white pupils rolled to the back of her head. A sound of a swift ghost was heard exiting her host, snuffing out the candles as she went. Carolyn's watery eyes focused again, a misty blue replacing the unnerving stark white.
"Carolyn?" Vicki uttered concerned.
Carolyn took hard laboring breaths, and murmured, "Vicki?"
"A spirit has spoken through you, Miss Stoddard," Prof. Stokes explained calmly. "Our séance was a tremendous success. The spirit of one of your ancestors spoke with us."
At this proclamation, the students politely applauded their professor.
Thankfully, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Prof. Stokes ushered his students out of the classroom, even his concerned teacher's pet Donna, assuring her that her friends would join her momentarily.
Alone with the two young women, the professor served the heiress a small paper cup of cold water. Carolyn took tiny sips.
"So, a ghost took control my body," she commented breathlessly. "Like it did with Vicki back when we tried it?"
The governess nodded.
"Did it get up and perform a trapeze act?" quipped Carolyn, grabbing at her stomach tightly. "I feel as though my stomach has been performing somersaults."
"Don't be preposterous, Miss Stoddard," the professor chided in a logical tone. "We were in a sacred circle. If that circle abruptly broke, we would lose contact with the spirit, and you're very life could be lost in the balance."
"She was just telling a joke, professor," Vicki explained to him.
Prof. Stokes analyzed this claim. "Oh, I see." He stoically realized what Vicki meant, and nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.
"Some ancestor of mine spoke through me?" Carolyn questioned Vicki, still looking a little green.
"Yes, a Leticia Collins." Vicki supplied helpfully.
"She claims she married into your family," filled in the professor. "She spoke with a cockney accent."
"Weird." Carolyn heaved out another breath.
Taking small sips of her cold water, she glanced at Vicki. "Learn anything about the West Wing?"
"Not really." Vicki shook her head, running a hand through her long dark tresses. "She warned me not to awake an evil warlock who'd caused horror and misfortune to your family."
"Yes, don't do that, Vicki," Carolyn concurred. "Say, do you think this evil warlock is the one haunting the West Wing?"
"I don't think that can be," said Vicki. "The warlock is apparently asleep."
"Excuse me, if I may," the professor politely interjected. "Are you two by any chance referring to the West Wing of Collinwood?"
"Yes," Vicki answered him. "Strange shadows attacked my fiancée and I, and we saw a strange vision from the past. We think it could be a warning."
"Fascinating." The professor was delighted to hear this.
"That's why we came to you," said Vicki. "We're hoping maybe you can help us figure out what is going on."
After witnessing the séance and how Prof. Stokes constructed it, Vicki felt reassured that she'd made the right decision coming to him. His expertise may even exceeded Dr. Guthrie. Prof. Stokes was clearly a full-blown advocate when it came to the supernatural.
"We're hoping you can help make sense of all this," Vicki finished.
"In order for me to do that, I need to visit Collinwood," stated the professor. "By any chance, may I receive an invitation to your Christmas party?"
"Oh, I'm not sure if we're still having that," said Carolyn awkwardly. "My uncle Roger wanted to throw that party for his new wife Cassandra. But their marriage is not going well to say the least."
"Blasted," the professor muttered, deeply disappointed. "How unfortunate."
"I'll arrange your visit, professor," Vicki promised him. "I know I can convince them to let you visit."
"I hope so, Miss Winters."
After Carolyn collected her bearings, Vicki thanked the professor. As he bade them farewell, the professor escorted the two young women out of his classroom, where they reunited with Donna out in the corridor.
In her cold cell, Angelique slowly regained her senses. Her vision came to her more clearly, but all she could see was death. The ghost of Josette still haunted her, along with that irritating, tingling music of hers.
The ghost of Ben Stokes was still present. He took great pleasure tormenting his former mistress. Kneeling beside her, the portly ghost impishly yanked off his head from his shoulders, giggling wildly as he did so. He reattached his head to his body and repeated the macabre process continuously. Angelique was uncertain why the ghost of her former slave was playing this boring and childish game with her. But as her fuzzy, swirling mind strained to become more coherent, the witch came to the sobering realization that Joe was not coming for her.
Another sensation chillingly swooped through her shriveling joints. Her impossibly ancient body was decaying rapidly. Her life was draining. She could feel Diabolos' clawed hands reaching out for her.
Her cell door joltingly swung open. Barnabas and Julia entered and shut the door behind them.
At the sight of Barnabas, Angelique felt her life draining further. But looking at Barnabas, she took wicked satisfaction that despite her deceitful former lover's new ability to exist in the day, he was still nevertheless a man existing in a time he had no place in. He was just as much of a freak as he ever had been.
She listened quietly as Barnabas spoke to Ben and Josette. He requested for them to leave the two of them alone. Josette hotly protested, but Barnabas assured her he would be alright. Angelique stopped listening then.
Barnabas convinced the two ghosts to leave the prison. As they faded out of the cell, Angelique was beyond glad when her former mistress took her tingling, sweet music with her. Once the two dead departed, Barnabas turned to Julia and repeated his request to be left alone with the witch. Julia was extremely hesitant, but reluctantly agreed. She mentioned something about checking on Joe. The doctor looked at Angelique with her signature squinty eyes. She seemed to examine the witch like she was truly some fascinating science experiment. She then receded out of the cell.
Finally, Barnabas and Angelique were alone.
The former vampire slowly came closer to the witch.
Angelique found herself spilling out weak words. "Have you come to watch me die, Barnabas?"
"Can a demon such as you ever truly die?" Barnabas retorted.
"Look at me," Angelique wheezed. "I'm dying. Such a thing is truly possible."
"Do you honestly think I'll believe that," spat Barnabas. "This is clearly one of your fiendish tricks."
"Oh, why couldn't you just love me?" the wrinkling crone uttered resentfully. "My love for you will always curse you."
"I have overcome your curse," Barnabas gloated, glaring harshly.
But just then he felt a powerfully intense hunger raging inside him. The primal hunger of bloodlust. A hunger that tormented him for centuries when he was cursed as a vampire. This terribly abrupt sensation startled him. His heart pounding rapidly, he desperately needed to drink the blood of some virtuous young woman. He badly needed a taste of pure, sweet, virginal blood.
Sensing his monstrous discomfort, Angelique stretched a truly ugly grin across her lips. Feeling her strengths weakening, the witch decided to relent and let Diabolos claim her and unleash his unholy torment.
Releasing a final breath, Angelique descended into the netherworld. Her corporeal aged body vanquished, leaving her straitjacket to lay crumbled on the padded floor. There was no trace of her. She was gone.
Barnabas was horrified. His arch nemesis had escaped him. He shakily ran his tongue over his teeth. He thankfully didn't feel any sharp, unnatural fangs. He was still a mortal man. But why did his old primal hunger haunt him just now?
"Can you see the center?"
Joe found his mind in a state of a blurry haze. He honestly had no idea how he ended up in this unsettling, creepy place. He felt trapped in some bizarre void. He was surrounded by swirling colors of red, blue, yellow and green. He heard a strange chiming noise blending seamlessly to the colors.
"Can you see the center, Joe?" A disembodied voice echoed through the twirling colorful void. The husky voice of a woman.
"Ah, sailor. Are you really going to allow another woman to control you through your mind." A cocky disembodied male voice spoke up jeeringly.
"Leave him alone, Nathan," interjected a whimpering female voice. "He has been through quite enough. He does not deserve this!"
"Oh, Millicent. You and your misguided sympathy and feeble attempts to help this pitiful waste of a man," chided Nathan's voice through the swirling colors. "You are nothing but a weak broken ghost sheltered by a pompous family. Joe does not need you anymore than he needs the witch, or the aghast absurdity of a woman doctor wielding a gaudy medallion, hoping to manipulate him. What he really needs is to take a firm hand with this sniveling matron, stand up on his own two feet, and smack some sense into all of these self-serving females so he can start charting his own damn course for once."
Joe listened to the male voice with blank emotion.
"Joe and I are friends, Nathan!" Millicent argued affronted. "There is no need for him or I to smack each other!"
"No, he just ignores you while you possess his lady and terrify him," Nathan stated highly amused.
"Can you see the center?" Julia's voice echoed through the blur of colors.
Joe laid his sights on a flash of white gleaming light in the dead center of the void.
"Yes," he answered automatically.
"Listen to me carefully," Julia commanded steadily.
"Allow yourself to be henpecked by another woman," Nathan's voice taunted vehemently.
"You leave him alone, Nathan!" spat Millicent's voice protectively.
"Cassandra Collins is out of your life," said Julia.
Joe's gaze still laid on the bright center light. "Cassandra – is gone?" A hint of questioning tinged his monotonous tone.
"Cassandra Collins is out of your life," Julia confirmed. "When I awake you from this trance, you will immediately leave this hospital. You won't remember being here."
"I will leave this hospital." Joe's gaze was still held on the center light of the void.
"And you will have no recollection of ever being under Cassandra Collins' spell."
"No recollection of ever being under Cassandra Collins' spell," Joe said monotonously.
"I believe this means he will forget you, Millicent," teased Nathan's voice. "You didn't make yourself known to him until the witch cast her devilish spell on him. I suppose she brought you two together. But I must insist it is for the best. Spirits and mortals can't possibly be friends."
"Oh, no," Millicent murmured fretfully. "Joe, please don't you ever forget me!"
"No recollection of ever being under Cassandra Collins' spell," Joe repeated in the same monotonous tone.
"Please – don't forget me, Joe!"
Joe found himself driving his truck out to the docks of Collinsport. His mind felt numb but there was a nice welcoming clearness to this new feeling. The crisp icy winter air billowing from the sea relaxed him. He was silent as he parked his truck. He watched some fog drifting out over the waves.
"Millicent," Joe found himself murmuring."I have a real urge to slug that Nathan in the jaw."
Joe felt the most warm and joyous of smiles beaming invisibly from the passenger side of his truck.
"Oh, Joe," Millicent's voice breathed out relieved.
Five o'clock struck the grandfather's clock in the darkening foyer of Collinwood. Maggie switched on the candle light fixtures by the front doors. She and Willie had an exhausting day. Even though they got away with arriving late for work, (thanks to Sam phoning the Great House with an inventive cover story about some mundane accident at the Evans cottage), Maggie and Willie were instantly put to work.
Maggie spent the remainder of the day scrubbing endless corridors with a bucket and sponge. She endured a daunting lecture from Mrs. Johnson on how she shouldn't make too much of a habit of arriving late to work. "You don't want to disappoint Mrs. Stoddard."
What more, Willie caught David wandering around the West Wing while he should be resting in bed. With Burke occupied at that moment, he had Willie chase the boy away from the Wing. But when David refused to return to bed, Willie had to chase the stubborn little demon all over the mansion. David nearly slipped when he encountered Maggie scrubbing one of the floors in the many gloomy corridors. Maggie and Willie finally ganged up on David and forcibly returned him to his bedroom.
They briefly saw Sarah in the boy's room, but she didn't seem to want to interact with them. She'd barely acknowledged them. She was more interested in David. Maggie wondered if the ghost girl could sense the cold tension between herself and Willie. The two hadn't spoken much since Windcliff.
Trying to get through the work day, Maggie tried to keep her mind off Willie and Joe. As well as Barnabas, Julia, and the ghosts of Collinwood. She concentrated on her hard scrubbing. She also managed to clean three bathrooms and then washed dishes with Mrs. Johnson.
Now alone in the foyer, Maggie heaved a tired sigh. She'd relish the day when she could step down from this job and never step foot on the Collins estate again.
Willie, meanwhile, kept busy in Burke and Vicki's future master suite in the West Wing.
It had been a low-key day. Burke didn't give the crew much to do. He seemed distracted, almost like he was haunted by something. Very much like the night before. He didn't seem all that upset with Willie for showing up late for work with a busted jaw. He even allowed Tom to leave early to pick up Amy from school.
Willie found he couldn't get much work done in the master suite. That haunting music still lightly tinged the dusty air, a clear reminder of the ghosts haunting another portion of the Wing. Josette's assurance that everything was under control didn't give Willie much confidence. Nothing was under control. Willie decided he needed a break from being around all this haunting music. He decide to sneak out of the West Wing.
As he left the room, a billowing inky shadow hiding in a dark corner detected the sandy-haired young man. It climbed sharply to the ceiling as it stealthily stalked Willie from above in the still developing corridors. When he left the West Wing, the shadow continued to follow by slithering through the upper crack of the door.
Willie tread out to the foyer, where he spotted Maggie by herself downstairs. She looked tense and exhausted from her chores.
"Hey, Maggie," he uttered from up the banister, capturing her attention.
"Hi, Willie," Maggie uttered up to him.
The tension from what had happened at Windcliff still stretch tightly between them.
Willie made his way down the staircase, rubbing his bruised jaw. He tentatively joined her at the large foyer table.
"Ya still mad at me, Maggie?" he asked.
"I just don't understand why you provoked Joe like that," Maggie exclaimed. "Especially since he lost his will to a monster just like you did with Barnabas."
"He treated you like dirt, Maggie," Willie said defensively.
"I know he didn't mean all that," Maggie insisted. "He's always been my friend."
"Even when ya with me?" Willie questioned.
"No – I guess not," Maggie amended. "I guess I just hoped we'd be friends with him eventually."
The shifty shadow maneuvered tightly up the darkened, gloomy ceiling. It locked its sharp sights on the couple straight beneath it. It immediately sensed the tension between them.
"Me and Joe don't like each other," Willie drawled. "We'll never be friends, Maggie."
"Are you sure that's definite, Willie?" Maggie asked gently.
"Yeah," Willie answered surely. "Does that bother you, Maggie? I thought you said at Windcliff that when this was over we'd never deal with Joe again. I thought you're done with him."
She silently studied what she thought he was getting at. "You think I want -" Maggie couldn't finish the sentence. "Willie, after everything we've been through with Barnabas, and everything we did together, I have never been so close with anyone as I am with you."
Willie listened to her intently.
"Do you trust me, Willie?" Maggie asked.
He stared deeply into her soft brown eyes, as she stared earnestly into his grayish-blue ones. It felt like they were in a trance, but no vampire or witch was putting them under a hypnotic spell. Raw emotion welled up in their eyes. The shifty shadow moved slowly, ready to advance on them.
Willie's lips parted, ready to respond to Maggie's query. But a sudden rapping erupted from the front doors.
Willie jerked, hesitantly rubbing the back of his head. The shadow retreated up the ceiling at the sound of the rapping. The rapping sounded off from behind the front doors again. Willie and Maggie looked at each other silently. The persistent rapping continued.
Maggie squeezed shut her eyes and reluctantly moved to perform her servant duties.
She dutifully answered the doors and found a man she'd never seen before. He wore a gray suit with a matching winter coat. He also donned a fedora, a gray scarf, and gloves. His clothing was tailored and stylish. He had gleaming black eyes and a sharp black goatee. There was a definite sparkle in his black eyes once they registered Maggie.
"Well, hello." He smiled.
"May I help you?" Maggie asked this latest stranger, trying to mask her distress.
Willie observed them quietly from the background.
"I certainly hope so," the new stranger replied delightedly.
"Do you have an appointment, sir?" Maggie pointedly inquired.
"Oh, my dear. I am the latest member of the Collins family," claimed the man boldly.
"You are?" Maggie was taken aback. "Who are you?"
"Why, I'm Nicholas Blair," answered the stranger jovially. "I'm Cassandra's brother!"
Maggie exchanged an uneasy look with Willie from over her shoulder. But all the former vampire slave could think of was how loathsome this creep was for being so interested in Maggie's skirt.
Next Chapter: The Warlock