Synopsis: Willie, in lieu of a lab rat, becomes part of Dr. Hoffman's experiment.


The wind howled outside, mercilessly battering the shutters and whistling through cracks in the building's stonework. Willie huddled before the fire in the parlor, cocooned in his wool blanket, as he struggled with the next literary classic the boss had chosen for him to read. It was Elizabethan, like the books that Buzz studied. He learned in the preface that, in addition to Mrs. Stoddard and the Countess Bathory, the era was given that title because there was once another Elizabeth who had been a hot shot English queen, and she knew pirates.

Candide had been a walk in the park compared to Shakespeare's weird ass imagery. The story was older, but the volume was much newer and listed annotations and scene summaries in the margin, without which Willie would have been at a total loss. He ascertained before accepting the assignment that this book was not a first edition.

Thee, thy, thou, wilst, wouldst, wherefore—vouchsafe? That one wasn't even in the dictionary but, apparently, it was neither a voucher nor a safe. If Buzz could understand this stuff, he must be pretty damn smart.

The servant would have much rather retired for the evening, but that was not an option. He had to be available to drive Dr. Hoffman back to Collinwood whenever she pleased, and she often worked obsessively into the wee hours.

The mantle clock chimed 4 AM, and still no word from upstairs. The doctor would want to be brought back again at 9 in the morning. After she showered, changed and ate, when did she have time to sleep? Willie knew these hours were definitely impinging on his rest schedule. Funny how she had wanted to give him sleeping pills before. Julia probably took the ones that kept you awake. He was still sitting up as his head nodded and the book dropped from his hand.

"Willie!"

The servant abruptly opened his eyes, closed the book (carefully) and headed upstairs muttering, "Why doncha just get a damn bullhorn? I bite my thumb at you, sirrah."

Julia was waiting in the doorway.

"You ready to go?" Willie asked yawning, but he could see the doctor was still wearing her lab coat and Barnabas was lying on the examination table.

"Come in, Willie," the woman instructed, ushering him through the door. "I need a volunteer."

"But I thought—"

"Let's not waste time. Please lie down on the other table and roll up your sleeve."

"What for?" he asked suspiciously.

Julia prepared the intravenous needle. "You and Barnabas are going to exchange some fluids."

"Ooh, no—" the young man did a U turn and reached for the doorknob.

"Willie, do as you're told," the vampire ordered from where he lay.

"You should be honored; you're going to be part of a very exciting experiment," Julia guided him to the table and sat the dubious man down. "I have isolated a mutation in Barnabas' blood. Now we're going to transfer some of that blood to you and see if your body absorbs it, rejects it or kills it. Likewise, Barnabas will receive some of your blood to test his body's reaction."

"Ya know, he's already received a lot of my blood." The woman rolled up Willie's sleeve and tied a tourniquet around his arm. "What if ya put his blood in me and I turn into a vampire?"

The doctor chuckled at his naiveté. "Don't worry, that's impossible. We're talking about a pint; it's a very small amount. Your body's defense system will most likely kill the mutation."

Willie tried to imagine globs of blood monsters battling in his veins. "Or that other thing you said, reject it, what does that mean?"

"Make a fist. My theory is that the mutation will be destroyed, and we will have the cure. I'm sure of it." The doctor thumped the inside of Willie's arm.

"Then what? You'll take all my blood and put it in Barnabas to kill his mutant things. Well, I-I'm still usin' it."

"Lie down and relax your fist."

"So far you haven't denied anythin'."

"Willie!" Barnabas snapped from the other table. "Stop giving the doctor a difficult time and do as she says. That is an order."

"I don't wanna be a volunteer," he muttered, cringing as the needle was inserted.

"Did you finish the volume I gave you?" Great. He was attached to one bloodsucking machine and the other one wanted to hold a book club meeting. But perhaps a distraction would be a good idea.

"Yeah, pretty much. I skipped some 'cause it was hard to understand, but I got most of it. Tie-balt was a real punk. And Mercerito(1) was funny 'till the other guy stabbed him, then he got pissed and put a plaque on both their houses."

"Plague."

"Whatever." He looked over to the adjoining table. "You said it was a love story."

"Quite so. It is the greatest love story of all time."

"Well then, people should have sex, not get killed. Here, everybody's dead in the end."

"They died for love. It's a heartbreaking tragedy with an important moral lesson."

Willie shook his head. "That don't make any sense. You can't die of love like it was some disease. They only died because the messenger screwed up. And the moral is: Don't kill yourself unless you're sure your girlfriend's not just takin' a nap." He pushed from his mind the memory of Christmas Eve, when he almost slipped off the edge of Widow's Hill grieving for Maggie Evans.

Barnabas discretely returned to the previous topic by correcting Willie's pronunciation of character names. He went on to quote some of his favorite soliloquies and passages. A short while later, with poetry swimming in his head, the servant started to doze.

If Barnabas got cured, he wouldn't be a vampire anymore; he'd just be a normal guy. Well, normal for Barnabas; he would still talk funny and carry a cane for no good reason. But that would mean Willie wouldn't have to be his slave anymore. Maybe he could even leave. Shit, why not? Barnabas couldn't stop him. He could go…where would he go? Willie had never been on his own. Yeah, well, maybe it was about time he grew up and became independent. After all, he was a quarter century old.

The handyman could get himself an actual job. If you didn't count sailing the tramp steamers, he had never had gainful employment. Maybe he'd even apply for a social security card, get an authentic driver's license, a bona fide passport. With no history of legal documentation, Willie sometimes felt like he wasn't a real person. Certainly no one would notice if he dropped off the face of the earth. That was probably why Dr. Hoffman wanted to steal his blood. They could bury him next to Jason.

He could take that test that was like graduating from high school.

And then he'd get a job—doing what? Willie pictured himself filling out an application at McDonalds. Yeah, I got plenty of work experience: hustler, con man, pickpocket, blood donor, vampire pimp, assistant kidnapper, coffin carpenter, ladies' maid—and now guinea pig. I can also fix water pumps and rocking horses.

With a new life and a new job, he could even marry Maggie Evans. Maybe, if she was crazy enough. He pictured her crouching in a corner, drooling into her straightjacket. The young man knew from experience that Dr. Hoffman's magic medallion could reduce you to just that. He thought a lot about driving out to Wyndcliff to visit her. She wouldn't remember him, of course, but Willie could tell her that they had dated once; they had had a romantic picnic on the floor of his bedroom. The mention of this would awaken the girl's dormant desire and, mixed with his unbridled passion, they would do it right there in a padded cell…

Dear God, will you please close your door? Have you no modesty?

Sorry.

It was, on occasion, quite awkward to have a boss who could see and hear your every thought.

When she was ready to be driven home, Julia woke Willie and told him to sit quietly for fifteen minutes and eat a candy bar before heading out. Upon his return, the reluctant volunteer checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror, just to make sure he still had one.


(1) Tybalt and Mercutio, characters in Romeo and Juliet, Willie Shakespeare, 1652