Synopsis: Some people in this world are gracious and forgiving toward their transgressors. Willie isn't one of them.
Willie opened his eyes to see the draperies seemingly close themselves. He wasn't sure how that happened, but in the Old House, there was little point in questioning such phenomena. The vampire had been rescued by a little ghost who appeared at his tableside.
"You mustn't open curtains during the day," Sarah chided him. "You know that's not good for you."
Willie made a muffled sound. The child fingered the edge of the duct tape and ripped it off his mouth with one swift stroke.
"Oww!" he yelled. "You are one strong little kid."
"What are you doing there?" she asked innocently.
"Not a whole heck of a lot. I got stuck here by mistake. Do you think ya could untie those knots here and down there?" he indicated with his head the cloth restraints and the rope binding his feet.
She examined the sloppy, complex knotwork. "I don't think so. It's too hard." The tiny specter shook her head.
"I betcha could. You can do anythin' if ya try hard enough."
"Then why don't you do it yourself? Why don't you try hard enough?"
Willie took a deep breath and pulled at the straight jacket with all his might; it just made the binding tighter.
"I'll find David," the little girl suggested. "Maybe he can set you free."
"No, don't do that. Keep him away from here, or he'll get in trouble."
"Poor Willie, you have so many worries. You should be resting now." Sarah reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Sweet dreams." The ghost disappeared and a white wisp dissolved into the darkness.
Barnabas used to evaporate and reappear somewhere else all the time. Why couldn't he do that? Dr. Hoffman had said Willie's powers might still be developing; that is, unless they were being sapped by all that human blood she was pumping into him. The vampire concentrated on making himself disappear. He felt he could do it if he tried hard enough.
At sunset, Harry reentered the laboratory swinging a belt. He cracked it on the table next to Willie's head, his expression going from playful to pissed as he demanded to know how the prisoner had removed the duct tape from his mouth.
"Sweated it off," the vampire answered casually, being careful not to flinch. "Tape don't stick to sweat."
The servant started to close the drapes then realized they were already in position. He snapped back to Willie.
"What the hell—how did you do that?" Harry doubled the belt and slapped it against his palm.
"I'm sorry," Willie apologized. "I know you really want to kick the crap outta me, but you don't get it that I'm dead, and it just don't hurt like it's s'possed to."
Harry threw the belt away in disgust. "Well, that sucks!" Willie nodded remorsefully. "But, if you're so damn powerful, how come you're still tied up?"
"Ya got me. There I am completely at your mercy. So, cheer up; ya can still starve me if ya wanna." Johnson shrugged begrudgingly. "Hey listen," the prisoner continued with a note of urgency in his voice. "Lemme get up, will ya, please? Just for a minute. I gotta take a leak."
Harry laughed.
"If ya don't, I'll piss my pants. Ya don't want that."
"And why don't I want that? It'd be a hoot."
"Because you'll have to clean it up."
"Yeah, right. Or ya could just lie there in it."
"You obviously don't know Barnabas and Dr. Hoffman like I do. Julia won't have anythin' contaminatin' her lab, and the old man, well, he's got the most sensitive nose in town. I'm tellin' ya, you'll be sorry."
With a look of confliction, Harry pondered the possibilities, then he released Willie's feet from their bonds.
"That's all you're gettin'," he said uncertainly.
"Well, you got a choice. You can take off this straightjacket, or you can come in the bathroom and hold it for me."
"Fuck, no." Harry undid the table straps then stopped abruptly. "I don't know about this. I better ask the boss." He ran out the door.
Willie rolled off the table and landed on his knees on the floor. This was his last chance and it had to be quick. He closed his eyes and concentrated with every fiber of his supernatural being. Like when a limb falls asleep, his body began to tingle as it partially dematerialized, and became pliable enough to dislocate his shoulders and slip his arms out of the straightjacket. He shook the restraint to the floor, returned himself to solid form and scanned the room for a weapon.
Willie picked up the discarded belt but decided no, not bad enough. He settled for a wooden broom propped up in the corner, snapped off the straw end, and waited behind the door until Harry returned.
"Barnabas said you—" The air was knocked out of the new servant as Willie swung the pole like a baseball bat straight into Harry's gut. He doubled over in agony. The vampire aimed the next blow to his back, and the larger man went down, whereupon Willie pummeled him with the stick.
Harry screamed, fumbled to his feet and flung himself into the hallway, his attacker in pursuit. When the vampire swung the handle across the back of his legs, Harry went to his knees and fell down the steps. Willie dove after him, losing the broomstick in the process, and, locked together, the two tumbled down the staircase like a snowball.
Harry continued to howl as he crawled across the foyer into the parlor. Willie walked behind him, waiting for the right moment. He kicked the servant onto his back, pounced on top, and viciously choked the hysterical man.
Barnabas, in his dressing gown, looked up from where he was enjoying a light supper by the fire.
"Please stop fighting, you're disrupting my meal," the master sighed.
Willie took his hands off the servant's throat, but when Harry began to yell again, slammed him across the face. Barnabas walked over and poked the younger man with his cane.
"I said desist. That is enough." He pulled Willie up by the shoulder as the injured party slithered out from underneath. Willie stuck out his foot and tripped Harry as he stumbled from the room and bounded up the stairs.
"What is the meaning of this?" Barnabas inquired irritably.
"Nothin'. Just bitch-slappin' the servant."
"I am his master, not you."
The young vampire shrugged. "He can be the servant of two masters.(8) Like that book ya have in your library."
"Not if you're going to treat him like that."
Willie's jaw dropped. "But that's not fair." He flopped into a chair, pouting. "You hit me all the time, and didn't feed me, and locked me in a dungeon."
"Yes, you were difficult to train. And stop exaggerating, it was a wine cellar," Barnabas took out his handkerchief and wiped the chicken grease from Willie's cheek. "A poor choice of punishment as I recall."
"Why don't you punish him? He started it."
"Because he follows instructions and doesn't lie to me or break things." Willie sprung from his seat and punched the nearest wall, crumbling the plaster. "And he doesn't destroy my property."
"I'm your property, and he tried to destroy me."
"It seems to me you were not the one harmed."
"That's only 'cause he's a fool and doesn't know that vampires don't pee or sweat."
Julia Hoffman let herself in the front door, fussing as usual to prevent the head scarf from flattening her hairdo.
"Why didn't Harry pick me up at Collinwood? I—" She stopped in her tracks upon spotting the young vampire in the parlor. "Oh…Willie." She removed her gloves with deliberate dispassion.
"Oh…Julia," he returned mockingly. More than anything, he wanted to strangle her next. "I decided not to volunteer for you anymore. In fact, I think you should look up that word in the dictionary, 'cause you don't know what it means. I'm gettin' my stuff and my coffin, and I'm outta here."
"If you take one step out that door, you'll be recognized. The whole experiment will be in jeopardy."
"Guess who don't give a shit."
"Let him go, Julia," the older man said. "He and Harry shouldn't be under the same roof. They don't seem to get along."
"No," Willie retorted. "We don't play nice together, but it's my fault. I'm envious because he's such a better servant than I was."
The young man left the room and was halfway upstairs when he did a turnaround and stomped back into the parlor.
"You don't do that to people!" he railed at Julia. "You don't drug people, and tie 'em down, and not feed 'em for days and days. You're a bad doctor!"
"I was trying to help you—"
"Help me? Are you cracked?" The vampire got in her face. She stood her ground with a steely expression but he could smell the fear. "And do you even know what you're doin' to Barnabas? Look at him, he's old as dirt." Willie searched his brain for the right words, the ones Candide used. "You are an ambitious, fanatical—bat shit crazy ass scientist; I think you're the one who outta be in a straightjacket."
He shot a glance to Barnabas, who avoided the confrontation by pouring himself a tall brandy. Willie stormed out of the room. He paused on the landing and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. In the corridor of his mind he stared into Barnabas' portal; Willie desperately searched the man's face for a sign of solidarity, a gesture of commiseration, but the hybrid human merely gazed back and said nothing. He looked sick and tired and old. Willie deliberately closed the door in his master's face, blew out the candles in the wall sconces and stalked into his own room, slamming the door behind him. There was now a substantial slide bolt visible, and the young vampire thrust it into the locked position.
First stop was his old bedroom on the third floor. Fortunately it had not been reassigned to Harry. No, of course not; they probably gave him the bridal suite. He pulled his duffle bag from the armoire and stuffed it full of old clothes and humble possessions. In the desk drawer he found a shopping list (some items had been crossed off by him, some by Barnabas), $1.15 in change, and a newspaper clipping announcing the engagement of Maggie Evans. He had cut the picture up the middle to exclude her fiancé, Joe.
Willie took the money but left the other things in the drawer. Maybe a hundred years from now, some other guy would live in that room and, although they weren't as good as German love letters, he wanted to leave something of himself behind.
He looked around the space for the last time—his first real bedroom. There was the corner where he had spent days sitting on the floor by the window after Barnabas had beaten him so badly and scarred his face. There was the fireplace in front of which he and Maggie had had a picnic with rum and pineapple juice and roasted wieners. There was the bed where he had shivered each night in as many layers of clothes as he could stuff himself into.
It was time to leave.
Willie stopped at the second floor bathroom to claim his toothbrush and straight edge razor. He wasn't sure if he still needed them, but they were his. As he left the room, Harry Johnson came tearing down the hall with a battle cry, brandishing the broomstick handle. Willie stood in the doorway and, as Harry lunged, effortlessly disarmed him of the pole and tossed it aside.
"Loser," Willie said as the man screamed and ran away.
Willie walked down the hall to the crazy lady's laboratory where he retrieved his leather jacket and satchel, still lying on the floor beneath the window. He peeked inside to confirm its contents were still in place: one death certificate and one toe tag. Check and check.
Willie went down the back stairs to the basement. In the kitchen, he hopped up on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard where he had hidden his razor strop from Barnabas. He heard shuffling below and, opening the cabinet, discovered a hoard of vermin invading the larder. That idiot Harry hadn't learned not to store soft packaged foods in this old house. Willie snatched up a fat rat and greedily chomped into the soft underbelly. Its bones shattered with a sickening crunch as blood splashed over his face. It was not his ideal meal but Willie was famished and even a repulsive rodent was preferable to any of the humans in residence at present.
"You dirty rat," Willie wheezed, imitating his favorite movie star.
He tossed the carcass in the corner and crossed to the sink where he primed the pump until water gushed out. Running water—was that something he should avoid? Willie decided that he was confusing vampire lore with the Wicked Witch of the West and proceeded to wash the blood off his face.
In the central room, Willie gathered his belongings and tossed them in Josette's coffin. He would leave the tools behind. Some Barnabas had purchased for him, some he had bought along with the pickup, but he couldn't remember which were which.
The jewelry box was also on the work table. How stupid, to leave something valuable sitting out with that petty criminal in residence. Willie returned it to the secret cache in the wall. He hesitated, though, before replacing the loose stone and removed the chest again, opening the lid. Barnabas sure did have a lot of shiny treasures; no wonder he was so rich.
Willie held up the diamond necklace that Maggie had worn, the ruby lavalier and matching earrings. The young man remembered how she looked dressed in Josette's gown and bedecked in those fine jewels. Near the bottom of the box, the vampire pulled out a solitare diamond ring, puny and plain next to its glamorous neighbors. It was Maggie Evans' engagement ring, the one she had given to him. He shoved it into his jeans pocket and put away the box.
Back in the main room, there was a problem: how to carry the cumbersome coffin by himself; what it needed was a grip. Willie looked around for a solution and spied the handles on Barnabas' casket. With the claw of his hammer, Willie attempted to disengage one from its home, but the ancient hardware crumbled under the strain. Congratulations, ya broke somethin' else.
Willie rummaged through his possessions and pulled out the leather strop. With four nails, he secured the two ends to the head of his coffin and created a handle. With that, he hauled the wooden box upstairs.
The trucks keys were not on the hook in the butler's pantry where they belonged. Irritated that he would have to speak again to those people, Willie stomped down the hall to the parlor but no one was there. He heard the power generator pumping above him and shot up the stairs.
The other three were in the laboratory, engaged in another of the mad doctor's blood swapping rituals. At the sight of the young vampire, Harry cried out from where he lay on the examination table, but Julia patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Where're the keys to my truck?" Willie demanded.
"Harry has them, of course," the doctor responded. "We gave the pickup to him after you died."
"Ya can't do that. It's my truck." Willie rounded the equipment to where his boss lay on the other table. "Barnabas, tell 'em."
"Actually, the vehicle is mine," Barnabas replied.
"No, it ain't. I had that truck when I came to town."
"Yes, but you purchased it with money stolen from your mother. Since I reimbursed the woman, the truck belongs to me."
The vampire snorted, "How am I s'possed to get my stuff out?"
"You could stick it up your aaaah—!" Harry finished his sentence with a shriek as Willie barreled back to him with a raised fist.
Julia wedged herself between the two. "You have to leave now," she said, her jaw set.
Willie left, but not before he punched a hole in the wall by the door.
"Ya better fix that, Harry," he said and slammed the door behind him.
Willie sat on the top step and buried his face in his hands, unsure of what to do. He could hot wire the truck, but that's a pain to do every time you wanted to start the damn thing. He didn't know where he was going, anyway. Maybe just keep driving and driving…until the sun came up.
He trudged down the stairs and was dragging his coffin towards the front door when Barnabas descended the staircase.
"I see you made yourself a handle. Very clever," the old vampire said.
"It's my strop. I wanted to leave it behind in case ya need to clobber somebody."
"That's very considerate. You do realize that your casket is marring my floorboards?"
Willie looked behind him to see a trail of scuff marks leading from the basement door.
"Sorry…I might as well let ya know, I also b-broke the handle on your coffin when I was tryin' to take it off."
Barnabas looked at the vampire, shaking his head. Then he handed Willie the truck key. "Bring it back after you have transported your belongings."
"Thanks," the young man said begrudgingly.
"Where will you go?"
Willie sat on his casket. "I dunno."
"You may use the secret room in the Collins mausoleum if you wish."
"Okay, I could do that. Wait—you're not gonna come in there durin' the day and chain up my coffin, are ya?
"I hadn't thought of it, no."
"Well, don't tell Harry or the witchdoctor where I am, okay?"
"No, I shan't." The master smiled sadly as he shook the young man's hand. "May good fortune attend your endeavors."
Willie looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. You too."
As Barnabas prepared to return upstairs he hesitated for just a second and grasped the banister to regain his balance.
(8) Servant of Two Masters, Italian Restoration comedy by Carlo Goldoni, 1743
