Willie was in a corridor lit by a succession of ensconced candles on the wall. He had had this dream before. Occasionally the candles were dim, at other times they radiated brightly. There were two openings. One was the door to Barnabas's mind. Unless the master wanted him, it was always closed. The other portal was to Willie. It was not clear if he even had a door; this ensured that he could never keep a secret from the vampire.

Now the lambent glow revealed Barnabas' door gaped open, and his distant voice called out for Willie. He looked in and observed Barnabas returning to the Old House, searching for his servant. The master descended the stairs to the basement and, sensing light and sound emanating from the kitchen, proceeded to investigate.

A hearty blaze shone in the fireplace, coming from a single log that needed no kindling and left almost no ash. In his vision, Willie watched the vampire, who stood before the fire looking down at his manservant as he lay atop the kitchen table, curled up and fast asleep.

Barnabas poked the young man with his stick and the dream ended. Willie felt the wooden surface beneath him; his head came up drowsily.

"Why are you here?"

"Bugs," he mumbled and went back to sleep.

The boss poked him again, requiring more of an explanation. Willie sat up, still disoriented. "Bedbugs—in the mattress, see?" He lifted, one by one, the three layers of clothes he wore to bed to show the vampire his midsection. Barnabas was taken aback at the distasteful sight of the man's protruding ribs and sallow skin, pockmarked everywhere with swollen red dots interspersed with scratch marks and fading bruises of green and yellow. Willie noted his reaction and recovered himself in embarrassment.

"Go to your room and sleep on the floor by the fire," the master instructed.

"I can't; there're rats under the bed gonna bite me."

Barnabas considered his emaciated manservant who looked lost under so many clothes. "Very well; sleep here tonight if you must. Tomorrow you may trap the rodents and get new straw for your mattress." Willie nodded. "Oh, if you capture those rats alive, save them for me," the vampire added as an afterthought.

"Yessir." Good. That's killing two birds with one stone.

"For someone who barely reads, you can quote Thomas Hobbes. Incredible." Barnabas left the room.

Willie did not go back to sleep. Though that dreamlike door he watched Barnabas pause before his coffin, considering the practicality of finding a new manservant—one who was more obedient and loyal, smarter, more skilled, healthier—someone like Ben Stokes. Two tears ran sideways over Willie's nose and down his cheek as he wondered how much longer he had to live.


Later that morning, Willie stuffed clothes in his duffle bag with lightning speed. That was a skill he did have, one taught to him as a kid many years ago—what Jason called the hasty exit. He wrapped his razor carefully and shoved it to the bottom of his bag when he felt paper. He pulled out a bulging envelope and his jaw dropped. How could he have forgotten there was almost $500 sitting in his bag? This changed the game.

Okay, here's what could happen: Willie takes off now with his cash and whatever other valuable stuff falls into his pocket on the way out the door. Barnabas knows about it but is helpless to interfere until nightfall, by which time the boy would be in Boston or Nova Scotia. But, as the bat flies, the vampire catches up, drinks all Willie's blood, puts his body through a meat grinder and hangs his head on the front door as a warning to other disobedient servants.

Or...

Willie takes this money and buys all the stuff he wants and needs to get better and stops being such a pain in the ass. Barnabas is thrilled at his reformation and decides to keep him and not Mr. Perfect Ben Fucking Stokes, whoever he is.

If it doesn't work out, he could always run away and get killed later.

Willie stuffed a $50 bill in his pocket and the rest in his shoe, for old time's sake; It was almost as good as having someone's unreported credit card, that feeling that you just hit the jackpot and were going shopping. He swung open the front door and screamed.

Miss Winters screamed too. She stood on the other side of the entrance her hand poised to knock. Victoria backed away in alarm and almost tumbled backwards down the steps. Willie lurched forward to grab her, but she screamed again, her hands flying in his face.

"Help! Someone, help!"

The young man backed off as she flailed at him. "It's okay—I'm sorry! I just didn't want ya to fall."

Victoria leaned against the pillar and caught her breath, glaring at him. "Stay where you are, I have a gun." She clutched her handbag.

Willie knew that was bullshit but raised his hands in the air. "Look, I was just tryin' to help."

"Or you're robbing this house—Mr. Collins!" She called. "Mr. Collins, come here please!"

"Barnabas ain't home. He's…away. On business. Won't be back 'till tonight."

"How do you know?"

"I work here."

Victoria pursed her lips in disbelief. "Why would Mr. Collins hire a man like you?"

"I dunno." He looked at the ground. "I helped him out. He had a flat tire out on the road the other night, and I changed it for him."

She seemed uncertain. "Is that the truth, Willie?"

The young man looked her in the eye, unblinking. "Swear to God."

Miss Winters shook her head. "Mrs. Stoddard isn't going to like this. She would like to invite Mr. Collins to dinner this evening."

"I'll give him the message." Willie saw her peeking past him into the house and blocked her view. "Look, I gotta do some errands in town. Do ya wanna lift back to Collinwood?"

"No, thank you," she replied, as yet unconvinced of his innocence. "I'll walk."


Willie's first stop was the department store where he bought a firm, sweet-smelling pillow and the nicest twin mattress and box spring set in the economy section. The salesman threw in a complimentary adjustable metal bed frame, which his customer didn't need but accepted anyway.

Then the handyman hit the coffee shop and devoured scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee with lots of cream and sugar. The pretty waitress kept an eye on him, watching for trouble, but he kept his head down and left her a $3 tip on a $2 bill.

At the drug store he purchased a first aid kit, cigarettes and a Snickers bar. There were no girly magazines on display, so Willie loitered by the rack nostalgically perusing his favorite comic books: Superman, Avengers, X Men, Wonder Woman, Batman—the drawings looked different, but a lot of his old friends were still around. As a kid he spent hours reading at the variety store on the avenue, because he would never shoplift in there; old man Kramer had eyes like a hawk.

A man behind the counter cleared his throat. Willie looked up to see the pharmacist, who informed him that his shop was not the public library. The young man threw a Spiderman comic in his basket and moved along.

The Goodwill Thrift Store did a booming business that day. Willie bought himself a clean cotton blanket; towel and washcloth; flannel sheets; thermal underwear; sweat pants; jeans; sweaters; work gloves; work boots; a long, red, knitted muffler and an enormous quilted parka. Come winter, he planned to sleep in that. He also bought a beat-up transistor radio, another flash light and a can opener.

At the sidewalk stall of the used bookstore he spotted a book on home repair and improvement called This Old House. He had to buy that; there was an entire chapter on plumbing that would be very good to know.

Last stop was the grocery store for canned goods that wouldn't spoil, a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of rum.

Of course, the bloodsucker still had to be in charge, so Willie wouldn't eat anything until permitted to do so, but it would be ready. True, he did have breakfast; he forgot about that. So, to make it up, the boy bought a new Bic lighter and a case of Duraflame logs. Strangely enough, Barnabas thought them a wonderful invention and approved their use. That wouldn't last for long, Willie surmised, when he realized how expensive they were.

The servant returned home, unpacked and tucked his purchases safely away. His old mattress was hauled down to the wine cellar, which already smelled like something gone sour. He was at the ready by the vampire's coffin when Barnabas rose, candles lit.

"Oh," the master said with mock surprise. "You're still here. I thought you decided to leave."

"No, sir." He quickly changed the subject. "Vicki Winters was here today. She, well, Mrs. Stoddard invited you to dinner tonight. They usually eat around seven."

"Charming. While I am gone, you may have a small supper. Then I will meet you at midnight at Tanner's Farm. Is that understood?"

"Uh-huh, I mean, yessir. I'll be there." Willie assumed he was dismissed and started to leave.

"Oh, Willie." He turned back. "Where exactly did you acquire all the money you spent so frivolously today?"

"It's m-mine, really. Uh, Jason gave it to me, to help me out, when I was s'posed to l-leave town." The young man didn't know why that came out sounding like a lie when it wasn't.

"I see. And how did Mr. McGuire come across such a large sum, I wonder."

"I dunno, b-but I got it from him, I swear; I didn't steal it."

"I didn't say that you had."

I just bought some stuff I needed so I wouldn't have to ask you—t-to save ya money."

"In that case, your meritorious conduct today pleases me." To Willie that sounded like something good, so he smiled.

Tell me, has your bedbug problem resolved itself?"

"Yessir. I hadda get a new mattress 'cause they don't use straw anymore. But we got bugs in them other beds and furniture too. I'm gonna get rid of 'em tomorrow."

"Very commendable. You may go now." Barnabas flew off.

Willie breathed a sigh of relief.