Two days later the Collinsport Star reported that the body of a young woman identified as Maggie Evans had washed up on the beach. Barnabas read the front page article, then, without comment, handed the paper to Willie. When he was finished, the servant tossed it in the fireplace and watched the headline burn.

Barnabas was relieved at the closure, but Willie went into a deeper depression. He had hoped that Maggie was still alive, had conned them and escaped. But he accepted now that she really was dead.

Destroy any evidence, the boss had said. So Willie cleaned, compulsively scrubbing for hours on end, every surface, until the wallpaper began to disintegrate and the bristles on his brush were demolished. He threw out everything she had touched, forcing Barnabas to rummage through the trash to retrieve Josette's jewelry and music box.

Communication between servant and master was strained. Willie would not look at Barnabas and did not answer when spoken to. The vampire declined to mention the broken statuary; he merely replaced the figure on its pedestal sans tete.

The Collinwood residents were bustling about getting ready for Christmas, hanging decorations, planning menus and wrapping presents. Mrs. Johnson was too busy to sit while the young man ate lunch, which was just as well because Willie didn't feel like socializing.

The housekeeper seemed to have recovered her spirits since his last visit, and jabbered away as she rolled out the pie dough. She told him all about Maggie Evans' upcoming memorial service; everybody in town was going and they were serving a luncheon afterwards at The Blue Whale. Carolyn announced that she was marrying that punk rock fellow after all, and young David had started using some pretty spicy language. Mrs. Stoddard's wedding plans did not look all that promising. Mrs. J didn't much care for that Mr. McGuire and couldn't see why the mistress of Collinwood would want to marry someone like that. It was none of her business, but her employer certainly didn't seem very happy for someone about to tie the knot—and him acting like he owned the place already.

"I gotta go."

"Well, that was a waste of good food; you hardly touched your lunch. I guess my cooking doesn't suit you anymore."

"You know that ain't true. I'm just…I don't feel good."

"Are you too sick to shovel the back steps before you leave?"

"No. I can do that."


When Willie returned to Collinwood that Friday, he observed two police cars parked in front of the house. There must be something big going down, because Collinsport only had two police cars. His first instinct was to U-turn out of there but was wary of appearing suspicious, so the handyman drove around back, as was his custom, and knocked on the service entrance door. Mrs. Johnson hurried to answer.

"Not today, son; I can't let you in. There's trouble brewing."

"W-what's wrong?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure going to find out."

"Well, here's your grandparents' stuff I forgot to bring Tuesday—"

Willie reached into his pocket to hand her the heirloom letters and photograph, but the door was already closed. Apparently the trouble was more important. The young man was about to take them back home when he spied the servants' mailbox and placed them in there instead. Then Willie high tailed it out of there; he had no such idle curiosity where law enforcement was concerned.


Later that day, Willie sat on the parlor floor surrounded with parts of the rocking horse and his tools scattered about. He was contemplating whether or not to remove the wheels, which were rusty, made the toy unbalanced and were totally unnecessary. After all, it was a rocking horse.

What were the cops doing at Collinwood? Maybe they were just collecting a donation for the Policeman's Ball. Maybe Roger got drunk again and started mowing down pedestrians. Maybe they were investigating Maggie's death. After all, she washed up at the bottom of Widow's Hill, which was part of the estate. Maybe they would come to the Old House next, asking questions.

Willie nearly jumped out of his skin when the front door creaked open. Jason McGuire entered the room.

"Hey, can't you knock? There's a lock on the front door for a reason."

"That's never stopped me before." Jason crossed to the window and peeked through the curtains as if he were being followed.

"What are ya doin' here anyway? I thought you'd be on your honeymoon." Willie returned to his task, not really interested in whatever the Irishman had stopped by to show off or complain about.

"Yes, well," he shrugged, "there was a change of plans. Things didn't go exactly as I hoped."

"Oh." Willie looked up. "That's why the sheriff was at the big house this afternoon. Shit hit the fan, huh?"

"In a manner of speakin'. I'm afraid I'll be makin' a hasty exit."

"Did ya get anything?"

"Only the clothes on m'back." Jason approached his former partner, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm goin' to have to ask you for a little loan to see me though—for old times' sake, eh, boy-o?"

"I-I don't have any money," Willie chuckled at the notion. "I had them five C notes you gave me before, but you know I spent it. Got a brand new mattress and—"

Jason smiled and continued patiently. "Now, lad, there's no time for playin' games; they're runnin' me out of town." He took the wrench from Willie's hand and placed it on the floor. "Now I've seen you in town doing hefty bank transactions and selling some impressive pieces of ice at the jewelry store."

The servant shook his head. "But none a' that's mine."

"I said, don't play games!" The affable demeanor dropped abruptly. "You know how to put your sticky fingers on it." He pulled Willie to his feet and was surprised when the punk's arms flew up to protect his face. "What's wrong with you? You've gone soft livin' up here."

"B-Barnabas gets mad if I touch his stuff."

"Which is nothin' compared to what's goin' to happen if you don't." Jason pushed him away in disgust.

"One a' these days, he's gonna kill me," Willie muttered as he rifled through the desk drawer and pulled out a checkbook.

"Are you tryin' to set me up? I can't use that; it has to be cash!" The Irishman's eyes were wild and desperate.

Willie produced the boss's billfold and found two $100 bills. He reluctantly offered the money to Jason who smacked it away. "We need to be talkin' about a lot more than that, mate. I want to know where those jewels are."

"Shit, no, I can't. I mean, I-I dunno—"

"Come on, m'boy, after all we've been through, it's the least you can do." Jason advanced on him, kicking the rocking horse over. Willie backed away, almost tripping over the tools he had left on the floor. He grabbed one and wielded it at the Irishman.

"Are you raisin' that hammer to me?" Jason looked cautious but did not retreat. "It's come to that now, has it? Come on, lad, put it down, so we can discuss this calmly."

"Get outta here. You gotta go. Now. It's gettin' dark."

His senior partner held out his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. "Come with me then. We'll fill up our pockets and hit the road. Like old times."

"I can't; he won't let me." Willie lowered his head and the hammer in defeat. "You don't understand." Jason put his arm around him in a parental gesture, then swiftly grabbed the tool and twisted Willie's arm behind his back.

"What I don't understand is why ya want to leave your old partner in the lurch." The young man yelped in pain. "Do you know what your problem is, Willie? You never learned to share. It's always been share and share alike with me but, oh no, not you." He dragged the boy backwards and clamped his hand down on the desk, raising the hammer in the air.

"Jason—don't—"

Willie screamed as the hammer came down, fracturing his little finger. "Now, are you goin' to do right by me, or do I break the rest of them? Because, when I'm done, you'll never use this hand again."

"No! Stop! I-I think there's a necklace downstairs—a diamond necklace; it's big."

Jason smiled and released his pal. "That's better. Let's have a look at it, then."

"I'll get it; you haveta wait here." Willie cradled his hand.

"I wish I could trust ya, cub, but I don't." Jason grabbed the broken finger and squeezed, causing his partner to cry out in pain.

"But he's down there: Barnabas." Still gripping the injured hand, Jason dragged his friend into the hall. "Wait! Wait! I'll tell ya the truth. The real truth." Willie took a deep breath. "He's dead, Jason."

McGuire's eyes bulged. "You mean you killed him? Is that why you're skittish as a cat?" Willie wriggled out of his grasp and backed away. "But doesn't it all work out then? Let's clean this place out." Jason laughed as he picked up the fallen money. "Isn't it ironic? I had Liz convinced there was a body buried in her basement, and you really have one. 'Tis shame there'd be no profit in blackmailin' you."

Willie backed into a wall and shook his head. "He ain't that kind of dead," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Well now, lad, how many kinds of dead are there?" The young man continued to shake his head, refusing to answer. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to go below deck and see for meself."

"No! Don't go there; I'm tellin' ya. There's a monster sleeping in the basement."

"You're off your chump, wastin' me time like this." He pushed Willie toward the steps. "Let's go; we're payin' your monster a social call."

Downstairs, Willie ran ahead to Josette's coffin and felt around in the lining. "Here it is." He thrust out the necklace.

"That's a pretty piece." Jason smiled and shoved it in his pocket. "What else do you have?"

"Are you kiddin'? Do you know how much that thing is worth?"

"I think it's the tip of a 24-carat iceberg. What's in the other coffin, Willie?"

"It's Mr. Collins. And if you're here when he wakes up, we're dead, you and me both."

"Enough of your blarney. I think the other jewels are in there."

"That's stupid! Who the fuck would keep jewelry in a coffin in their basement?" Jason pointed to Josette's casket. "Well, yeah, but she was always leavin' stuff layin' around."

"And who is she? I thought it would be your coffin next to his." Jason chuckled as he ran his hands along the vampire's casket.

"Stop screwin' around!" Willie reached over to hold the lid down. "Listen to me, just for once. This is not what you want to happen. Go now, before it's too late!"

Jason grinned. "I told you years ago, when you have somethin' I want, I'll let you know. Now, let's take a look." He shoved the servant man aside and opened the coffin lid.

Willie turned away. He refused to watch, but he couldn't help hearing Jason's screams, followed by the scuffle of the man's shoes as they tried to find purchase, then the disgusting slurping sounds. By the time the vampire had finished, his servant was sitting on the floor in the corner, covering his head. He looked up to see Barnabas standing over him, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief, not a hair out of place.

"You are in trouble, young man."

"Yessir. I know."

"Bury him in the alcove, behind the dairy cellar." He turned to leave. "Take the necklace and the currency from his pocket, and put them where they belong."

Willie went to the kitchen first and wrapped his hand in an ace bandage from the first aid kit before bringing the shovel downstairs. He wasn't sad or angry or scared—just numb. He dragged the lifeless remains of his only friend into the lower depths.

Digging was difficult. The dirt floor was compact and Willie's hand was hot and throbbing. He should have made the hole deeper than he did, but it was too hard to manage.

Anyway, who cares if it smells? This whole basement stinks anyway, especially the dairy cellar.

Willie covered the Irishman's body with his trench coat so the dirt wouldn't land on his face.

"Hey, Jason, it's boring here, when are we gonna ship out? Let's go back east. I think it's almost Christmas. Remember last year in Hong Kong? God, we were so stinkin' drunk, we startin' dancin' in a parade right down the middle of the street…mmm, I could go for some of that Cantonese pizza and a beer. What was it called? Too Soo Brew? Was that it?

"That was a damn good birthday. Well, 'cause you never asked, that's why. It sucks to have your birthday on Christmas. Well, most of the time, it didn't matter. I'm not into that holiday crap, 'cept that's the best time to pick pockets; you taught me that…You once told me I should play the violin, 'cause I had good fingers or somethin'. You were just makin' that up, though; I know ya didn't mean it. Imagine ole Willie Loomis playin' a violin.

"Remember when you took me to that sex bar? You said they had the most talented ladies in the world. Hah! Ping pong balls; that was funny. I didn't know you could speak Mandarin. How many different languages do you know?"

Jason didn't answer. Willie finished the job and sat on the ground next to the plot. He picked up Jason's hat, his Greek fisherman's cap, and put it on, but it felt wrong. He took it off and placed it instead at the head of the grave like a marker. A bottle of rum would be a good thing to be swigging on right now, but that was stashed in the kitchen cabinet. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and laid one on the cap. The young man sang softly as he watched the smoke curl above his head.

"Black velvet was full of joy
for every Dublin sailor boy
She guaranteed to please
and the most that it cost you was five rupees."

Shuddup, I know I can't sing, but I couldn't send ya off without a hymn. But that's all you're gettin' 'cause I'm really pissed at you right now; you fucked up my hand. Ya didn't haveta do that." He wiped his nose across his sleeve. "But you don't listen, you're always shovin' me around…always have to be the boss…always goin' for the big score…"

No smoking in the house! Willie heard the boss bellow inside his head.

The servant put out his cigarette on the mound of dirt. "No more scores, Jason; not for us."

Meet me in the kitchen.

Oh shit, here it comes. Willie rose and brushed the dirt from his pants to afford himself an extra moment of mental preparation before heading to whatever punishment the master had in store for him: death or dismemberment.

Willie stood in the doorway. There was no point in making excuses to Barnabas. As with all things, he knew exactly what had happened; but he could say he was sorry. He remembered a previous incident for which the vampire had felt apologies were in order.

"Sir, I'm r-repentant about what happened—"

Barnabas sat at the table, reading his newspaper by candlelight. Without looking up, he sniffed the air and motioned to the sink behind him. "Clean yourself."

Careful to give the monster a wide berth, Willie sidestepped to the water pump, unwrapped his bandaged finger and washed his face and hands. Barnabas crossed his legs and folded the newspaper. The servant stood silently, gripping the towel, his heart pounding.

"Sit."

Willie wasn't sure if he had heard him correctly, but Barnabas did not like to speak twice, so he rounded the table and slid into the chair opposite. The boss pushed a basin across the surface to him; it was filled with melting snow.

"For your injury." Willie thrust his hand in the bowl. The heat and throbbing were replaced almost immediately with icy numbness.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Willie's eyes scanned the room but could see nothing the vampire had brought with which to hit him. True, he could grab the fire poker or a rolling pin. One of those to the head and he'd be dead in a New York minute. So, why was he just sitting there?

"You realize that McGuire's death was unavoidable," the master said at length.

"I tried to stop him, but—"

"But—?"

Willie lowered his head. "I'm a coward and a crouton." Barnabas looked at him incredulously.

"Cretin."

"Whatever."

The vampire cleared his throat. "Although it would have been preferable to put considerations for my well-being above those of that miscreant, I understand you still harbor feelings of loyalty toward him, however misdirected they may be."

"Jason was my friend; he took care a' me."

Barnabas raised a brow. "He was not your friend, and what he took care of was his investment."

Willie frowned. He didn't get the point of this lecture and didn't like where it was going. His left leg started to bounce.

"I do not want this evening's incident to bring on another bout of melancholy that will keep you from…performing your duties. The Evans girl was one thing, but this I will not tolerate."

Willie turned his head away to keep from answering back, but the vampire could read this thoughts. Barnabas banged his fist on the table, which made the servant jump.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You hadda kill him, but I can't just forget about it; he was my partner. You might think you know everythin', but you weren't there…He was the only friend I had."

"Was that an act of friendship?" He pointed to Willie's throbbing hand. "Let me correct your distorted sense of amity: McGuire did nothing but use you for his own nefarious purposes. Were you so desperate for a father, you chose him? That man repeatedly lied to you, corrupted your morals, robbed you of your youth, and made you into an alcoholic and a criminal."

Willie ran his fingers through his hair. "I was already what you said, an alcoholic and a criminal, before I even met him," he replied with feigned indifference.

"You were an impressionable boy with weaknesses which he exploited."

Willie squeezed his eyes shut, wishing his ears could do the same. Shuddup. Just shuddup. He stood suddenly. Thrusting his chair back, the servant stomped toward the kitchen cabinet.

"Sit!" Barnabas barked. Willie stopped in his tracks. "Do I need to repeat myself?" There was a pronounced frown on his face and growing irritation in his voice. The young man returned to his seat. "You will no longer drown yourself in rum when faced with an unpleasant thought or situation. Therein lies your problem."

Willie slumped in his seat, smoldering with resentment for this know-it-all who, quite honestly, knew it all—every dirty little secret.

Is that what this is about? You want me to stop drinkin'?

"I want you to acknowledge that although your youth was deplorable, it is in the past, and one cannot—"

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're gettin' on my case about livin' in the past," the boy blurted. "And havin' daddy issues." The vampire glared at him. "Shit, I didn't mean to say that out loud."

Barnabas took a deep breath to regain his composure and attempted again to convey his message. "You must put aside this neglected and abused child, and become a man. Acquire some self-respect."

"How can you tell me in one breath that I'm a slave, and then say, go get some self-respect?" Willie retorted. "Everythin' you ever do and say to me is so I'll feel like a loser piece of shit."

"I am your master, and I am harsh when it is required. But, believe it or not, I have an interest in you, else you would have died that cold night in October. I see in you the potential to be much more than this sulking, selfish, immature delinquent, but first you must cut the ties which bind you to that course. That necessitated the removal of Jason McGuire."

Willie took a moment to interpret this latest lecture. "Wait. Did you make him come here on purpose?"

Barnabas smiled genteelly. "I cannot force someone to act against their will."

He stared at the vampire. "Are you kiddin'? Ya do it all the time."

"Mr. McGuire but followed the path of his own evil intentions; I only allowed it to happen. And now Karma has, as you would say, bit him in the ass."

If that was intended to break the tension, it worked. Willie burst into laughter at the boss's use of common language. Still, he felt conflicted.

"I know, so Jason was a rotten partner. He said share and share alike, but always skimmed off the top. Always held the money, know what I mean? Sometimes he wasn't too nice."

"No, to steal a child from his mother is not very nice."

Willie shook his head. "Nah, I wasn't a kid, I was 15 when I ran away, just didn't look it…Ya see, my mom thought she still wanted me, but I-I didn't belong there no more…It wouldn't 'a worked out."

"Well, since one cannot travel into the past, we shall never know for sure."

Silence descended in the dimly lit room.

"Barnabas? I need some money. When I got outta the slammer, Lyddie—that's my mom—she sent me a lotta cash to go home, but I used it to buy the pickup and come here instead. I'd kinda like to pay her back…if I could."

"That matter has already been settled." Barnabas smiled, waving his hand dismissively. "Months ago, I had my solicitor wire the amount along with a note saying you had found employment and were resuming your world travels." The young man stared at him. "Well, I couldn't have a woman with the resourcefulness of your mother, tracking you down, now could I?"

"No." Willie was dumbfounded. "I guess not."

"Good. Then our conference is concluded." The vampire rose and tossed the towel and bandage across the table to his servant. "Oh, there is one more thing: your punishment."

Willie swallowed. He thought he had side-stepped that little detail.

"I have stated that your energies would be better spent in improving yourself, rather than wallowing in self-pity, as you are wont to do. I find it to be a most unattractive quality. Therefore, you will spend one hour of every day in my library reading that large book on the podium; it is a dictionary. You may also borrow volumes from the shelves if you take care when handling them. Am I understood?"

"Yessir."

Willie looked overwhelmed and dismayed. He wondered if it wouldn't have been easier to get hit.


The next morning, the new student dutifully looked up random words and took notes for more than an hour before beginning his daily chores. Willie wasn't certain how much he could accomplish with a bum hand, but the vampire failed to take that into account. His instructions, as always, lay on his writing desk in the parlor. At the bottom of a typical list of cleaning projects and repairs, the master had written:

"You may want to begin by rereading Peter Pan. That should be simplistic enough for you to comprehend. BC"

Willie pulled the fountain pen from the drawer and scrawled his response at the bottom of the page:

"I find your elitist attitude to be a most unattractive quality. WL"