Synopsis: Who says you can't go home again? Well, Jason said it once, but there was a warrant for his arrest, so he really couldn't.
The Old House looked dark and empty. There was no fire or candles burning and the front door was unlocked, but Willie knocked anyway before letting himself in.
"Hello? Barnabas?" His voice echoed down the hallway. There was no response except the shuffling sounds of a rodent in the next room.
Harry Johnson turned out to be a pretty crappy servant after all. This revelation came as no surprise to Willie as he noted the layer of dust on everything and cobwebs beginning to form in the corners. There were no rats in the parlor when he had worked there. Upstairs he investigated the abandoned laboratory and second floor bedrooms which were accumulating mold on the ceilings because no one had replaced the buckets under the leaky roof.
He smelled a human. There was someone in the house, and it wasn't Dr. Hoffman or Harry. He peeked in the master bedroom and saw a solitary figure sitting in a high back chair by the dead fireplace.
"Barnabas? Is that you? Why ya sittin' there in the dark?" There was no response. He put down his satchel and placed his hand on the old man's arm. "Are ya sleepin'?"
"Who's there?" It was a quivering ancient voice.
"It's me, Willie. I come to see ya."
"Ah, Willie, how thoughtful of you." He patted the vampire's sleeve with a skeletal hand.
"I'm gonna light a fire and some candles. Hold on."
Willie thought he looked bad in the dark, but was positively repulsed at the illuminated sight of his former master, previously noted for his impeccable grooming and grace. Barnabas was more than 100 years old, feeble and emaciated, sitting in that chair for god knows how long in a filthy dressing gown. The young man pretended not to notice.
"If you're gonna be human now, ya need to take a bath, and when was the last time ya had somethin' ta eat? Ya look like a damn scarecrow." The old man sighed sadly but Willie was indignant. "Who the fuck is s'possed to be takin' care a' you?"
"Harry Johnson is dead. He broke into Julia's pharmaceutical bag one day after she left and overdosed on barbiturates."
"Oh, wow." He shook off a fleeting feeling of humanity. "Well, no loss there. I told you he was a rotten servant. And I never understood why Dr. Hoffman carted that stash around with her anyway. Ya know, when I told Harry I knew the biggest drug dealer in town, I wasn't kiddin'."
"Julia just wanted…"
So where is the acid queen? She made you like this and then just took off?"
"Dr. Hoffman was committed as a patient to her own sanitarium."
"Hah!" came out of Willie's mouth before he could stop it. He suppressed an evil grin. "Sorry."
"She became unnaturally obsessed with the experiment, trying to correct whatever it was that caused me to age as I did. Genetic engineering, she called it." The old man wheezed momentarily, then continued with effort. "The woman refused to leave the laboratory; she wouldn't eat or sleep. Finally Harry carried her out and put her in an ambulance."
"Karma's a bitch," Willie snorted derisively. "I hope she was in a straightjacket."
"We mustn't be unkind," Barnabas chided the young vampire. "We all do what we think is right at the time, however misguided that may be."
"No, we don't. Not everybody is nice, Barnabas. You're such a Pollyanna."
"I do not know what that means."
"Don't matter." Willie produced his satchel and sat at the boss's feet. "I did some travelin' and brought back presents." First he presented the wine bottle. "Okay, this is to replace the really expensive one that I drank in the cellar. It's not the same kind, but it cost a shitload of money, so it's gotta be good."
The old man smiled at him. "Absolutely." Willie noted that most of his teeth were gone. He shuddered and looked away.
"Good. The other thing was s'possed to be that book, Candide. I tried to buy another one, but you can't get 'em anymore, not first editions, so I gotcha somethin' else." Willie reached inside the satchel. "Now, don't laugh, but ya got so many books, all the famous ones—I couldn't think a' one ya didn't already have—so here." He tentatively presented the gift.
Barnabas struggled to read the cover with rheumy eyes. "Batman? You bought me a comic book?"
"It's a rare first edition, very valuable. And you be careful with it. If ya take it out a' the plastic sleeve, the oils from your fingers could stain the pages."
"Thank you, Willie, it's charming."
"Yeah, don't knock yerself out." The vampire said dismissively as he stood up and investigated the contents of the master's armoire. "Okay, let's getcha into some clean clothes. That robe smells nasty—and I told ya before, it makes ya look gay."
"Is that undesirable?"
Willie cautiously manipulated the old man's arms out of the dressing gown. "The smelly part is, yeah. The other all depends, I guess, on what floats yer boat. With you, who knows? In New York I saw another vampire walkin' down the street dressed just like a girl. He had these platform shoes that hadda be six-seven inches high."
"Perhaps he was some form of entertainment."
"New York's got a lot a' that…" Willie again buried his head in the armoire. "I, uh, went to visit my mom. She didn't see me or nothin'. I mean, after all this time, what would I say?"
"Perhaps words were not necessary."
The young man brightened, abruptly changing the subject. "I slept in a palace! Rented a Jaguar, flew first class, met some fine lookin' ladies. It sure was fun to get away from this gloomy, hick town. Been a long time."
"Why did you come back?" Barnabas asked as Willie buttoned him up in a clean shirt.
"I dunno. I'm pretty sure I got somethin' called Stockholm Syndrome. I read about it in a psychology book in the library."
"You patronize a library?"
"It's where I get dinner. Beats hangin' out on the docks."
"What is this syndrome? Are you ill?"
"Just in the head." Willie put a blanket on the old man's lap, tucked it in and picked up the brandy decanter from the floor. "And no more a' this. Ya can't go drownin' your troubles whenever you're faced with unpleasant thoughts or situations. That's what ya told me."
"For someone who claims to be stupid, you have remarkable recall when it comes to—" his mind wandered off "—my own words . . ."
"Sometimes I do stupid things, but I don't forget nothin', I even know a lotta Shakespeare by heart. Girls go for that." He watched as the master started to doze. "There's gotta be some way to get ya better, Barnabas…What if ya became a vampire again? I know ya really wanted to be human, but—not like this. I think if ya don't go back, you're gonna die. Ya don't want that, do ya?"
His eyes slowly opened. "I want to see my family again: Mother, little Sarah, Josette..."
"Aw, crap, their ghosts are all over the place. You can see 'em any time ya want." Willie bit into his own wrist and then held it to the old man's mouth. "C'mon, master, it's suppertime. Drink up."
