Willie woke up a few hours later and remembered where he was. Feeling drained, both physically and mentally, he lay in the dark for several minutes, listening to a couple of mice gnawing at something across the room. The sheets were coated with dry crumbs. Willie pulled out his lighter and surveyed the room. On the little writing desk sat his old flashlight and a solitary candle in its holder. He lit it up.
The bed was sprinkled with flaked, dried mud from Willie's pants and shoes. However, on the floor was a small pile of clothes which had fallen from the chair when the young man had tumbled into it the evening before. There was Maggie's freshly washed black dress, his windbreaker (which he had given her to keep warm) and—his white terrycloth robe. In a flash, he pulled off the dirt-encrusted jeans, tossed them in the corner next to the ripped T shirt, and donned his security blanket; there was nothing as soft and warm.
Armed with his flashlight, the cell's new tenant investigated the one hundred or more bottles of wine lined up on shelves like an alcoholic library. One of them might make a decent distraction so, with his switchblade, he demolished the cork in a German Riesling and helped himself.
Damn! It tasted like old vinegar, and he spat it out on the floor. Guess it went bad from sitting there so long. After all, wine comes from grapes, and fresh grapes tasted better than old grapes any day. The next bottle was called burgundy, and that tasted better, but Willie was famished and wondered how long he would be in solitary and when his next meal would be forthcoming.
"Food is a very important thing," he explained to the bottle, "and Barnabas don't get that. Ya know why? 'Cause it's not about him."
He peeked over into the water pitcher, which was half full. Maybe he could make it last—
How long would it need to last? The young man wrapped himself in the blanket and chugged the fruity red wine. Damn. He shouldn't have sworn like that to the boss, but Willie was pissed off because the master kept using that word, and he didn't know how to answer the question. Barnabas knew that; but he seemed to take every opportunity to demean his servant, make him feel ignorant and worthless.
And Little Miss Maggie had just stood there, looking all bored and whiny, or was she really Josette now? That was an interesting question. Had she succumbed to the vampire's will or was she a smart cookie pulling a con job? Barnabas must be wondering the same thing; that's why he had her stay and watch while Willie got walloped. It was one of his tests. The servant shook his head. Even assuming she did give a flying shit about Willie, the girl couldn't risk blowing her cover. It's every man for himself; Jason always told him that.
Willie opened another bottle. A sweet Madeira from Portugal, which was past its prime, but the young man was no longer concerned with the taste.
Okay, so Barnabas was mad, but it wasn't the first time, and it could have been a whole lot worse. Just a couple of bruises afterwards; it hardly hurt at all. Certainly better than getting clobbered with the cane, which often resulted in concussions and scars. That walking stick haunted a recurring nightmare, in which Willie was attacked in the woods by a gigantic silver wolf. The beast never killed, but would tear its victim to pieces, then lie down next to him and calmly lap up the blood. Willie would wake from these dreams screaming in a tangle of blankets, but the noise never bothered Barnabas; if it did, he never mentioned it.
With nothing else to do, Willie started opening and sampling other bottles and discovered certain vintages of cabernet sauvignon from Bordeaux were not only quite drinkable, but chilled to just the right temperature—50 degrees according to the thermometer on the wall. Finally he began to get drowsy.
Willie went back to bed with his latest companion, an 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. It would have pleased him to know he had just put away some very expensive grape juice.
"You mustn't sleep in here. Father will be very angry."
The room weaved in circles before his eyes found focus on an iridescent little girl standing next to his bed. She seemed to flicker in and out with the light of the single candle she held. The child wore a long dress and mop cap, oblivious of the hot wax dripping on her hand, or through her hand.
"I brought this because I know you are afraid of the darkness," she said.
Willie sat up, not sure if he was dreaming. "You're Sarah, aren't ya? I seen your picture in a book. You're the one who keeps moving stuff around in the nursery upstairs."
"And I know you. You put away my toys every night."
"Well, somebody has to," he smiled.
"Have you seen my friend, David? Where is he?" she placed the candle in its holder on the writing desk.
"He misses you, but he can't come here no more; it ain't safe. You haveta go play with him at the other house."
She crawled into the bed and snuggled up to him, wrapping his arms around her.
"Uh, kid? This is a little uncomfortable…"
"I'm lonely and I'm cold."
"Yeah, but…" Nonetheless, he tucked her into his blanket.
"Do you have a little girl?"
"No—but I have a sister; she's about, I dunno, maybe your age." He dimly recalled his mother's photograph with two smiling children, flaxen curls and rosy cheeks. He couldn't remember their names.
"Is she pretty?"
"Oh, yeah." He patted her cascading brown locks. "She looks just like you."
"I have a big brother."
"I know. He's my…boss."
The ghost began to hum a childish tune as she rocked herself in the man's arms.
"There was a pretty lady in here who sang songs with me. Where did she go?"
"She's in the other room—with Barnabas."
The child's expression visibly went on the alert. "Will she marry my brother?"
"Maybe," he shrugged. "I dunno what's goin' on."
"Father will be angry! When he shouts, it makes Mother cry." Sarah shook her head, gripping the man tighter. "Barnabas is too young; he's not even finished school. If he disobeys, Father will punish him again. He is so strict with brother." She began to weep.
"But that was a long time ago. He's not that young anymore."
Sarah looked at the litter of empty bottles. "Take care. Father will whip you too for drinking his wine."
"Nah, he said it was okay. You need to lighten up, kid." They sat quietly for a moment. "Would you do me a big favor? I dunno what time it is, I don't even know what day it is, but if Barnabas is asleep in his box, would you ask the pretty lady to bring me somethin' to eat? There's food in the kitchen cupboard."
"Brother might not like it. He's so different now; it frightens me."
"Oh, no, Barnabas loves you more than anythin'. He could never be mad at you. But just to be sure, don't tell him, only the pretty lady, okay?"
"I like her." The ghost started to hum again. "Will you sing with me?"
"You don't wanna hear me sing, kid. If you weren't already dead, you'd wish you were," Willie laughed, but stopped when he saw the forlorn expression on the child's face. "Alright, knock it off, Sad Sack. Tell ya what, when I get outta here, I'm gonna fix up your nursery real nice. I can make your rockin' horse work again."
The little girl finally smiled up at him, and with that, Willie closed his eyes and dozed. This is how Maggie went bat-shit crazy. He woke a short time later, slumped awkwardly to one side, clutching an empty bundle of blanket.
Whoa. Pounding headache. No more of that red wine. The candle had extinguished itself, so Willie felt his way along the floor and retrieved his flashlight, despite the fact that the room would not stay still. Upon completion of his morning ablutions, which consisted of puking into the chamber pot, Willie spied something across the room. On the floor by the door was a can of tuna fish, as if it had been dropped through the window. The young man staggered over and picked it up. He grabbed the bars, yelling out the door.
"No! Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? I need a can opener!"
When next he woke, the flashlight was almost spent. His gaze made its way back to the door, hoping that the food fairy had dropped by with a can opener. Instead he discovered a sizable chunk of old cheese lying on the ground, being feasted upon by his rodent roommates.
With a yell, he hurled his sneakers at the door and dove across the room as the mice scattered.
Willie brushed off the dirt and shoved it in his mouth, wondering if there was a proper wine to drink with green spots. Maybe it was the kind of cheese that was supposed to have mold; not that it mattered.
The remainder of his day (or night, whatever) was relatively uneventful. In the drawer of the writing table Willie found a stash of long blue candles and lit one. He spent some time banging his shoes against the iron door and scraped the last vestiges of dried mud from his sheets and pillow. Eventually he opened another bottle of wine out of boredom.
"Don't forget I'm still in here!" he yelled out the window. "How much longer do I haveta stay?"
His water was almost gone and the chamber pot was almost full.
Willie knelt on the floor with a choice pinot noir and the candlestick. He pulled the wine ledger from the table and started to page through it. It was a list of vintages and numbers and dates, boring. On the third page there was additional writing scrawled across the original entries.
To whoever finds this—my name is Mary Margaret Evans. My father is Sam Evans at 42 Fleet Street in Collinsport, Maine. Please tell him that I was here. It is November or December 1981.
He turned the page.
I was kidnapped by Barnabas Collins and his accomplice, Willie Loomis. Demons. Criminals. They are keeping me prisoner in a basement on the Collins Estate. Collins has assaulted me many times. The other one pretends to help me but does nothing.
He turned the page.
They are trying to brainwash me. They want me to think I am a dead woman named Josette DuPray. I'm going crazy in this room. I know I am, but I won't give in. I will never go along with their sick fantasy. I will die first.
He turned the page.
I am not Josette.
I am Maggie Evans.
I am Maggie Evans.
I AM MAGGIE EVANS.
He turned the page.
They are planning to kill me, but they won't bury me when I die. Barnabas Collins is a VAMPIRE and wants to make me into one too. We will walk at night and sleep by day in coffins. If you find those coffins, destroy me and destroy him. Drive wooden stakes through our hearts, cut off our heads, then burn the bodies.
He turned the page.
This cannot go on. This cannot happen again. Destroy the MONSTER.
He turned the page. There was nothing but vicious scrawls across the paper. The page after that was blank. The young man found a fountain pen in the drawer and, after some prodding, convinced it to bring forth ink. He printed in careful block lettering.
I'm sorry Maggie that I didn't help more.
I wish I could tell you but I can't now. I love you forever. No matter what.
—Willie Loomis.
PS: Please ask me to sleep with you again. When your not drunk. Either way.
He hid the book in the back of the drawer.
Willie woke to find a lit candelabrum and a still, dark figure sitting in the chair next to his bed.
"Geez, Barnabas!" He jumped back. "I wish you wouldn't watch me sleep. It's creepy."
"You were resting so peacefully for a change, I hesitated to disturb you. Your water is depleted, and I thought you might have use for more."
Willie took the glass and scooted instinctively to the foot of the bed, where he sat, leaning against the corner wall.
"You got anythin' to eat?" the servant inquired hopefully.
"No, but I see you're doing an excellent job of plowing through my wine. On reflection, this was probably not the ideal location in which to discipline you."
Willie emptied the glass. "I didn't figure you cared, since you can't drink it."
"I plan to sell the collection."
"Some of it's no good anymore."
"In certain cases, even the bottles are valuable, especially if the seal is unbroken…oh, dear." He picked up the empty Rothschild 1870. "You did treat yourself. I do hope you enjoyed this, it was worth $11,000."
"Yeah, I guess it was alright...Sorry, I didn't know it was special."
There was a pause.
"The odor is dreadful," the vampire said at length.
The servant shrugged apologetically. "That's because there's a pot of piss and puke under the bed." Barnabas held a scented handkerchief to his face. "Ya know, this stink prob'ly isn't good for your wine. Maybe I should get outta here."
"Perhaps. Do you understand why you were punished?"
Willie took a deep breath. "I think so. Partly because of the shit I pulled—but part of it is Karma." He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I prob'ly got a lotta Karma; Roger Collins once told me all about it. Now I know he's a dick, but he's also really smart; dude went to two colleges. Anyway, Karma is when you do bad stuff, and later it comes back to bite ya in the ass.
"Well, lemme tell ya," the man chuckled, "I was a rotten kid, and my mom never hit me, not once. Then when I was at school, I did a lotta shit and didn't get caught; hardly ever got sent to the office. Then I teamed up with Jason and—did stuff that was even worse." He punched the pillow. "I shoulda run away, I meant to, but Jason said—well, it don't matter, I was a stupid chicken shit. Made a boatload of money, though. It's all gone now; we blew it in Panama." Willie looked at the vampire. "What am I tellin' you for? You already know everythin' in my head, right?"
"Indeed," Barnabas replied sardonically.
"So, that's the deal. Now I haveta live here with you, and that's my Karma. And I know why you hit me all the time; it's 'cause a' your dad." Barnabas looked at his servant incredulously. "When I was a kid, all I ever really wanted was a TV set and a father but, man, not like yours. I bet he never talked nice to ya or even brought ya a glass of water."
Barnabas' expression was concealed by his handkerchief.
"Anyway, I understand all that, so please lemme out. I know you don't care, but I'm awful hungry." The vampire did not respond. "Look, I still dunno what that word means, but—I think it's sorry. So, um, I'm repentant about all that stuff, ya know, my behavior, 'specially when I almost broke your statue and said fuck you, freak. I got such a rotten temper, sometimes I dunno what comes outta my mouth."
He looked to Barnabas, who was momentarily at a loss for words, for a response.
"It has occurred to me that you are still quite inebriated," he said at length.
"Ya mean drunk?" Willie laughed, falling over onto the pillow. "Damn straight."
The vampire repressed a smile. "Boy, you would not have lasted one day in my father's household."
"I bet…I don't get it. How can a person have all that money and still not be happy? Why would he want everybody to hate him like that?"
"I didn't, no—" Barnabas shook his head. "Enough banter, if you please. I have never known a servant with such a talent for wasting time as you. You will pull yourself together and go back to work. This old house has been…adversely affected by your absence."
Willie leaned over and looked him in the eye. "Are you sayin' I'm important around here, and you need me?"
The vampire sighed. "I'm saying the fireplaces are filthy, and the third floor is flooded from the storm; as a result the second floor ceiling has begun to leak."
"Okay. I can fix that."
