Day Three
There were more candles now, and Willie had three lit: one in its holder and the other two stuck with melted wax to the floor. He needed light for the task at hand. It had been three days without food, water or sleep—If Barney Baby wasn't going to let him go free, it was time to implement Plan B.
The second wooden candlestick had been smashed against the wall, and with his switchblade the industrious prisoner spent his day whittling, carving and slicing it into a point at one end. His blade was dulled and the subsequent workmanship poor, but it didn't have to be pretty; it just had to work.
The ancient receptacle was not cooperative. As Willie stabbed at it, he felt like his muscles were turning to jelly, accompanied by an achy head and raw throat. Occasionally, his stomach would seize up in spasms, but he didn't feel hungry any more.
The boy wished he had the watch from his duffle bag; Jason used to haul around a carton of fake Rolexes in his sea chest. It was unnerving to not know how much time was at his disposal—how long until the vampire rose again. He looked at his sloppy handiwork.
Can't wait any longer; this has gotta be good enough. Rest in peace, Bloodsucker Barnabas.
Willie had a reasonable idea of what would follow from his literary and cinematic experience with the horror genre. The vampire's eyes would spring open—be prepared for that—it may thrash around, scream, and blood might gush from its mouth, but the daring hero would not falter. He would drive a stake through the monster's heart until it crumbled into ashes and dust; there was no other way out of this situation. Willie would kill the creature or die trying, but he would not spend the rest of his days as some hellhound's chew toy.
Willie successfully destroyed the vampire and escaped from the cell, whereupon he returned to his loving family in New York, got a real job, married a nice girl with great gazonkas and had two adorable children. The End.
Had the young man been the author of his own life, that might have been the course of events; but he was not.
Someday Willie would understand that this thought transference thing he and the vampire shared could be manipulated to work both ways and, like Barnabas, he might control what was said and heard. But, at present, he lacked that foreknowledge. Otherwise, Willie would have known that, although the vampire took his repose during daylight hours, he was neither unconscious of his surroundings, nor of the victim to whom he was telepathically bound by blood.
The vampire lay in his coffin, eyes closed, waiting for Willie to launch his attack. Barnabas was somewhat distressed at the duplicity of this new servant, but mindful that this was a new age, and he had been fully aware of the fellow's deviant nature before choosing him. After all, he reasoned, appropriate behaviors can be taught if they are, in fact, not instinctual.
Willie shed his jacket to afford himself more ease of movement and opened the casket. He held the wooden stake in hand and was reaching for the mallet when the vampire sprung up and took him by surprise.
"Traitorous cur!" He pinned Willie to the wall by his throat while seizing the man's hand and the stake within his fist.
Barnabas twisted the other's wrist until the stick, high in the air, was aimed at his opponent's face. Willie struggled futilely and pulled on the hand gripping his throat, but he had neither the strength to resist nor breath to yell. Barnabas brought down the stake to within an inch of his victim's eyes. Willie squeezed them shut and managed to choke out words.
"I d-d-din—I w-w-as…"
Barnabas abruptly relinquished his grasp and let the perpetrator tumble as the stake clattered across the floor. "I beg your pardon. You what? Speak up, boy."
"I—uh, I wa-wasn't d-doin' anything," he whispered hoarsely.
"Is that so?" Barnabas, brow raised, looked deliberately at the wooden stick across the room. Willie rubbed his throat and tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.
"That. Oh…Uh, I'm sorry I m-messed that up. I have this p-penknife, see, an' I got b-b-bored…"
Barnabas looked at Willie. Willie looked at Barnabas. It was too lame to continue.
"You realize," the vampire said sighing, "you are an embarrassingly poor liar." Willie's gaze fell to the floor, humiliated at the accusation. Barnabas continued sternly, "This behavior is simply not acceptable. We must have an understanding. If I am to be your master, I shall demand your unquestioning loyalty."
"Master? What the hell is that? Look, I didn't wanna hurt ya, but I gotta get outta here," the young man whined. "This was a big mistake; I-I didn't sign on for this tour."
"Oh, but you most certainly did. Perhaps in the past you never faced consequences for your actions, but that has changed."
Willie shoved his hands in his pockets, pouting. "What am I s'possed to do?"
"You will serve me, unconditionally. I expect you to be trustworthy, respectful, obedient and industrious. In return, you may expect to continue, in one form or another, your despicable existence. Is that clear?"
"I guess so," Willie mumbled, focusing on the remaining candlestick. I'll try again tomorrow.
The vampire tilted up the young man's chin to make eye contact. "I suggest you don't. You have been granted an opportunity to redeem yourself but, make no mistake, this will not happen again."
"No…sir."
"I daresay it will not." He reached into the coffin, retrieved the wolf-head cane and advanced upon his insubordinate servant.
Willie's jaw dropped. Oh, fuck!
He scrambled out of reach but not for long. Barnabas grabbed the man's upper arm and hauled him back on his knees, whereupon the vampire brought down repeated blows along the length of his back. Willie clawed at the arm restraining him, hollering until the last vestiges of his voice were spent.
Afterwards, he crawled back to his corner, curled into a ball on the floor, his heart pounding, panting through parched, cracked lips. But he did not cry; there was nothing left with which to create tears.
Barnabas donned his coat, smoothing the folds of wool. "Under the circumstances, I shall feed myself tonight—given your demonstrated skill in that matter," he remarked dryly. "You may use this time to reflect upon your transgressions."
He pushed aside a stone in the step, revealing the lever which opened the entrance, which Willie watched with disinterest. The knowledge of how to leave brought him no consolation now, because he couldn't leave. Not ever.
Barnabas paused in the doorway. With a sigh, he returned to the room and silently regarded the boy staring into space. When the vampire approached, Willie cowered and threw his arms over his head.
"I understand the motivation for your actions and, where I do not consider myself to be a cruel master, when you are permitted to eat and sleep, it will be at my discretion. That is how you must be conditioned, how you will learn it is I to whom you are beholden." Willie didn't understand all the words, but he nodded. Slightly. "I recognize in you a familiar wild streak. At your age, I frequently purchased undomesticated horses and ponies," Barnabas continued. "At first they would not take the bit, refused to be tethered or saddled or mounted, but, invariably, in the end, they were broken, with the exception of one which went insane…he was put down."
Barnabas smiled and blew out the candles.
"You may rest now," he said magnanimously and closed the door.
Willie did not move. He shut his eyes and tried to forget the total darkness, of which he was growing increasingly frightened. Every noise in the chamber was something reaching out to grab him. Wind-whipped tree branches thudded against the outside wall. A spider crawled over his hand. Pounding heat pulsed up and down his back from his shoulders to his thighs. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, but sleep would not come.
