Synopsis: Julia moves in, takes over and exhibits the nagging skills of a Jewish mother, except her weapons are sedatives and hypnosis, instead of chicken soup and brisket.
Dr. Hoffman's makeshift laboratory was not attractive but functional. Over the next few weeks she had all kinds of cumbersome (and expensive, according to Barnabas) equipment delivered and set up in the bedroom that had once belonged to Aunt Abigail.
Willie hauled out everything he could, but the writing desk and chair. Into the far corner he pushed the canopy bed and armoire, both which would not fit through the door without being dismantled. In another corner was a big, noisy power generator which horrified the ancient vampire and rendered the large windows and fireplace ultimately unnecessary. Heavy drapes were installed to block the view of electric light from outside.
As it turned out, being a lab assistant was not all that glamorous. He was expected to keep the room as clean as possible, scrubbing everything with special solutions, and to drive the good doctor back and forth from Collinwood twice a day because, despite being a genius, operating a motor vehicle was apparently beyond her capabilities. Willie wore a heavy rubber glove on his good hand when he worked and a plastic bag with a rubber band over his arm cast.
Julia was frequently preoccupied with her research and mostly ignored him, except to give the young man orders (he wasn't sure how he ended up being her servant) or butt into his private life (he also wasn't sure how she became his personal physician and analyst). Willie couldn't imagine why she should give a skinny rat's ass about a stupid servant—rather, lab assistant.
"Willie, how is your hand healing?"
"The cast comes off in a few weeks, and, boy, will I be glad." He continued to scrub the wall, needing to stay focused on his chore, but not be rude.
"I meant the other one with the broken skin. Did you use the ointment I gave you?"
"I forgot. It's okay, though."
"Let me see." she looked up from her desk and motioned him to come over. Willie complied, protesting, as she removed his work glove. Shit, I shoulda lied.
"It's not okay, it's infected, which is exactly what I told you would happen. Why didn't you say something? It must itch."
The young man shrugged. "A little, I guess."
"Sit down and I'll give you something to clear it up." She walked over to her work table and prepared a hypodermic.
Willie's eyes went wide. "What's that?"
"Penicillin. Don't worry—" but her assistant had already slid out of the chair, backing away.
"I don't d-do needles. Anyway, I can't take that stuff. I had too much of it when I was—uh, young, and now it don't work on me."
"Why were you given so much?"
"I dunno!" Willie turned away abruptly. Nosy doctor, mind yer own business. You're supposed to be here to help Barnabas, not buggin' me.
"Alright, come back; I'll give you a topical." He begrudgingly returned to the seat. "Now your hand is shaking; what's the matter?"
"Nothin'. It just does that sometimes."
"Are you taking the Valium I gave you?" Willie shook his head. Shit, he should have lied again. "Why not?"
"'Cause I got stuff to do; I can't be goin' 'round all wonky."
She studied him with a pinched face. "I gave them to you to help with your alcohol withdrawal."
"And I told ya, it's not a problem; I stopped drinkin' lots of times."
She snapped her medical bag closed. "Apparently none of which were successful. And it is a problem if you're shaking and having trouble sleeping at night."
"It goes away. Look, I'm fine; I don't need any needles or pills, so lemme alone." Willie put his glove back on and began gathering his cleaning supplies.
"Irritability is also a withdrawal symptom."
"Nah, I'm always like this."
Evenings were a reprieve for Willie because when Barnabas was in the room, Dr. Julia Hoffman saw nothing else. Her days were spent reading and writing and looking at slides in her microscope, but at night the two of them would hole up in that room for hours doing god knows what.
Experimental research, that's what they called it. Yeah, right.
The following evening, Julia did not go directly upstairs to her lab, but instead instructed Willie to join her in the parlor for a few minutes before Barnabas arose. The handyman reluctantly obeyed, and Dr. Hoffman pulled from her pocketbook a pamphlet which she handed to him.
"Willie, do you know what this is?"
He read the cover. "It says 12 Steps to Recovery. There was a movie about 39 steps. Maybe this is the short version."
"I want you to read it, and there's a group that meets once a week in town."
Willie looked at the brochure. It was from Alcoholics Anonymous—that was where his mother had gone when she stopped drinking; it had changed her whole life. But Lyddie had had a real problem with booze. Eventually, she had been declared unfit to care for her son. Then Lydia Loomis signed up for this AA place and, just like that, she was all better. Willie wasn't as bad as his mom. He was not unfit to take care of his vampire.
"Maybe," he said shrugged indifferently. "I dunno."
"There's something else I can do to help." Julia again opened her bag.
"I don't want any more pills."
She pulled out a large, multifaceted medallion and held it up for Willie's inspection. "This is something different."
"It sure is. What's it got, magic powers?"
"Almost." She smiled. "I can hypnotize you."
The young man was skeptical. "Like you did to Maggie and Gene?"
"Yes, but instead of losing your memory, you will lose your craving for alcohol. Now, doesn't that sound like a good idea? No pills…no needles…all you have to do is look at it…see how it catches the light…"
Within seconds, Willie was out, one arm suspended in the air as per her instructions. Dr. Hoffman spoke in soothing tones as she told the patient he would no longer find drinking pleasurable and would suffer no withdrawal symptoms from the experience. Then she went on to garner information from her young assistant.
"When did you first start drinking, Willie?"
"When I was a kid, maybe seven or eight." He went on to describe the Capri Garden Lounge where his mother had worked as a cocktail waitress. He recalled sitting on a barstool next to his pal, Charlie, watching the ballgame on TV. Suddenly, he reached over a grabbed the old man's beer mug and took a big gulp. "Now, cut that out!" Bob the bartender yelled, but he was chuckling. Willie swayed on the stool in a caricature impersonation of a drunk, like Charlie Chaplin. As he slid off and staggered around the room, others joined in the laughter. The two hookers at the end of the bar kissed him, leaving frosted pink marks on each cheek.
The doctor scribbled in her red notebook. "How long did this go on?"
"Huh? I dunno, I didn't see any a' them after I went away."
"Why? Where did you go?"
"St Jerome's Home for Boys. I think it was a reform school or somethin'. Fadda Donahue was there."
"Who is that?"
"Just a priest. Gave me wine to drink; a lot of wine…I fell asleep."
"Are you saying a priest gave you alcohol? Why would he do that?"
"I don't wanna talk about it anymore."
"Willie, you need to remember if you want to get better." The patient sat in silence, his jaw set. "Alright, we'll move on. So, what did you do after you graduated from St. Jerome's?"
"Graduate?" The boy smiled. "I finished 9th grade—almost. Was s'pposed to move home. Yeah, right, home. Like that was gonna work out. Good thing I met good ole Jason and ended up with him 'stead."
"Jason McGuire?" Willie nodded. "Where did you meet him?"
"In the bar. He was my friend, let me stay in his hotel room and bought me smokes and rum. There was a pirate on the bottle, so we became pirates."
"Did you drink heavily then?"
"Oh, yeah. I was workin' as a hustler…do I haveta talk about it?"
"No, not if you don't want to."
"He said it was easy money, hah! It was a fuckin' nightmare. The other whores I knew were all druggies, but I was afraid of the needles, so I just got drunk every night."
Things were starting to make sense to the doctor. "Willie, is that why you had so much penicillin?"
"Well, yeah, Jason took me to get a shot every week or so, so I wouldn't get the clap. He said he would always take care a' me."
"How long did you work…at this profession?"
"A long time, but we moved around, never stayed in one place for long. Then I got messed up real bad this one time, real bad, and didn't work again after that. Just as well, eighteen was gettin' long in the tooth, Jason said, so we shipped out."
"You were on a boat?"
"A ship," Willie corrected her. "Tramp steamer. We sailed all over the world, haulin' cargo to diff'rent places. I saw pirates and whales."
"Were you drinking then?"
"'Course not. I had important responsibilities. Got smashed a few times durin' layovers, though."
"Why did you stop sailing?"
"Jason didn't really want to. He always had plans for some big con that was gonna make us rich."
"Did the scheme work?"
"Not that one, but he taught me lots of scams that did, and we made some good scores, but we got double-crossed in Panama."
"What happened?"
"He cried on the airplane. I tried to cheer him up, but ended up goin' to prison for awhile. When I got out, Jason was still broke; that's how we ended up here."
"And then you started working for Barnabas?"
"Oh, yeah."
"How did you meet him?"
"How else do ya meet a vampire? I was really drunk, lookin' for loot, and broke into his coffin."
"It seems drinking has not been the answer to your problems."
"No. Guess not."
"Well, from now on, when you take a drink it will be unpleasant and taste bitter. It will remind you of your very worst memory. Do you know what that is, Willie?" The young man declined to respond. "What is the worst memory of your entire life?"
"...No." The young man's eyes started to water. He shook his head from side to side and trembled violently. "No no no no no no no—"
"What are you thinking about, Willie?"
"Don't! Don't do it! Stop! No! NOOO!" Suddenly the patient was thrashing wildly, screaming incoherently. The doctor tried to intervene but Willie was writhing and kicking on the floor, unable to hear her. In a flash Barnabas, who had been watching from the doorway, was across the room. He knelt next to Willie and restrained him as Julia came to the boy's other side.
"Willie! That memory is gone!" the doctor yelled in his ear. "You will forget that memory. I will count to three and you will wake up, but you will not remember what we talked about. One two three."
Willie woke up to find himself lying on the parlor floor, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman were at either side, staring down at him. Had he passed out? Disoriented and exhausted, his allowed his limbs to go limp and lay there, panting.
"Doctor, I think you have no idea what you're doing." Barnabas sounded aggravated.
Dr. Hoffman took Willie's pulse. "He'll be fine. I have several patients with post-traumatic stress. This is a typical reaction."
"I do not see how that little exercise is going to help his drinking problem."
Willie began to remember how he came to be in the room. He had been talking to Dr. Hoffman, who showed him a magic necklace. But Barnabas hadn't been there, and it was not like him to look so concerned about his servant.
"Sorry." He slowly sat up, shaking his head. "I'll go to that meeting if ya want. I guess I better."
