Chapter 3

"Hey—hey mister, wh-what are ya doin'?" the man asked him.

Not sure what to say, he stood there making eye contact with this sudden stranger. He dared not say one word.

"What are ya deaf, mister? I said, 'whadda ya doin'?" his words slurred as he stepped closer, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. He was obviously a street bum. "Aren't ya one o' them fellas that just left here?"

Shaking his head, he replied to the vagrant. "No...no I'm not. What did you see? Were there other people that were here?"

With a loud grunt and burp, the vagrant pointed his finger. "Maybe there was—maybe there wasn't. Ya know, mister, I know my liquor, and this kind I drank tonight makes you see funny things sometimes. I dunno, maybe, maybe a dollar might sober me up some, huh? How 'bout...how 'bout it, huh?"

He backed away a couple of steps as the smell of the bum's breath certainly wasn't helping his nausea. He pulled out his wallet and the bum's crossed eyes twinkled as his mouth formed a wide toothless grin. "Hey, mister, you're loaded!"

"Shhhhhh!" He held his hand to his lips and whispered loudly. "Quiet! I don't want anyone to know we're here." He pulled a $100 bill from his pocket as this was all that he had available. He hated to waste so much on a tip from a googly-eyed drunk, but beggars (when dealing with beggars) could not be choosers. With a deep sigh, he handed the man the money. "Okay, now. Quietly, tell me what you saw."

The bum gripped the bill tightly. "Okay. There was..." he paused to count on his fingers. "One...two...yeah, okay. Two men came runnin' out that same door about fifteen or twenty minutes ago. I heard a car pullin' up, so I thought I would see if the bar was openin' back up. I came around to the corner here and heard a loud bang like a...like a..."

He finished the sentence. "Like a gunshot?"

The bum stuffed the bill inside his pants pocket, nodding in excitement. "Yeah, that's right!" "And you didn't try to find out who it was?" he asked puzzled.

"Hey, I might be drunk but I ain't no dummy, mister. If you heard a gunshot, would you stick around, huh? And what if it was just—hiccup—the thunder?" he continued. "I turned right over there by them trash cans and fell over. I looked back and saw two men runnin' out that door and down the street." He grinned again. "But they didn't see me."

"Yeah, I guess not. Well, you'd better run along, then. Thanks for your help."

The bum stood still, smiling. "Ain't ya gonna tell me what's in that trunk, mister? Ya never did tell me what—hiccup—you were doin' here."

"That's none of your business!" he snapped. "I gave you more than enough money, now beat it!"

Laughing giddily, the vagrant's hands went for the trunk. "Whatcha hidin' in there, mister, a dead body? Did ya kill somebody? Huh?"

He had to think fast. This drunk was getting louder, so he had only one way to scare him off for sure. With a quick reflex, he pulled the empty gun out of his pocket and pointed it right into the bum's face. "I said beat it!"

"Okay, mister! I'm s-sorry!" he turned and stumbled across the street as quickly as he could. Ricocheting from the rubber sole of the vagrant's worn shoes, a glass vial rolled across the pavement. With the bum now out of sight, he walked slowly to the vial and picked it up. There was a small amount of liquid still in the bottom, but the label was still intact: Benzodiazepine.

Holding the vial in his hand, he held it up to get a better look. "What's this?"

He glared at the bottle and grimaced in pain. He felt his head aching harder, and his pulse felt like it was starting to race. His dizziness returned with a vengeance, and he knew that time was quickly becoming his enemy.

Above the patter of rain and echoes of thunder, he heard sirens wailing in the distance. He stumbled to the street corner and peered around the alley. Parked near the opposite side of the Blue Whale by the Collinsport Emporium sat a taxi cab. Knowing he was too out of it to try and drive the sedan behind him, he took a chance and crossed the street.

As he walked toward the cab, he saw the hack inside with his head leaned against the window. The sound of the sirens grew closer, so he knocked furiously on the back window. "Hey, mister! Wake up! Wake up!"

The hack, startled by the sudden pounding, angrily turned toward the desperate man. "Hey, go away, you bum! Can't ya tell I'm off duty!?"

In desperation, he quickly pulled another $100 from his pocket and pressed it against the window. "Are you sure you're off duty?"

The driver sighed, and reached back and unlocked the door. "Come on."

Soaked from the falling rain, the $100 bill passed from his hand into the driver's. The driver stared at him. "Well?"

Not knowing what to say, he returned a puzzled glance. "Well, what?"

"Ahem...well, where do you want I should take ya?" He taunted him like a child. "I am a cab driver, and I take you places, see? So where do you wanna go, Mac?" he snapped angrily.

"I...I don't know. Something's happened to me; I-I don't know where I am or what my name is. I'm not sure where to go, but..." he nervously babbled.

The cabbie laughed sarcastically. "Hey buddy, you come from over there?" He asked, pointing toward the Blue Whale.

"Y-yeah, that's right." He nodded.

"Well, that explains a lot. Guess they didn't check the whole place and get rid of all the bums like you that don't know when to quit when you've had enough. Well, I'll take ya home, mister, how's that sound? Do ya remember where ya live?" the cabbie asked.

"Uh, I..." he remembered the driver's license he took from the purse. "I guess, um...this right here." From his pocket, he pulled out the woman's driver's license and read the address from Logansport. "Yeah, take me there."

"Okay, Mac. Well, since you don't remember where ya are, I'll give you the grand tour of the place." He quipped. "Oh, and uh, my name is Stiles, alright? Jimmy Stiles." With a quick pull of the meter handle, he pulled out away from the curb. "You sure ya don't wanna go to a hospital first, mister? You don't look so good."

"No, just step on it and get me there," he replied. Feeling woozy, like his head was burning hotter than ever, he sat back in his seat and held his stomach. His arms were beginning to tingle as his entire body began to ache and cramp. He couldn't stop, though. He had to find the truth before anyone else did. If anyone found out about the girl before he did, he knew there would be no way to catch up with whomever did this. He kept thinking about the bum saying how he had seen the two men running out of the Blue Whale shortly before he did.

On the meter, he saw a date above the rotating number dials—04/24/47. "Is that what today is?" he asked Stiles.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that's what day it is. Gee whiz, mister, what did you have to drink? Wish you could remember 'cause I sure would like a case of it after I get you home."

"I'm not going home; I-I just have a gut feeling to go here. Something's just telling me to stop there first." He looked out the window and watched lightning illuminating the sky over the roaring sea. With a bright flash, he noticed a large house that looked like a castle overlooking the ocean on a high hill. "What's that place, Mr. Stiles?"

"Only a magnet for every spook in this town, Mac." Stiles smirked. "That house is called Collinwood. That family owns this town and pretty much everyone in it. Just about all of us work for them—except me. My cab business ain't much, but it..."

"Who lives there? There's something familiar about that place," he interrupted.

"Pretty much who you would expect to live there: Some servants, a wealthy husband and wife, stuff like that. The wife actually owns the town and the mansion, but they say her husband ain't worth much, in more ways than one. She's easy on the eyes, though, I'll tell ya. Name's Elizabeth Collins- Stoddard, and her husband's name is Paul." Stiles shook his head. "Don't know what a classy broad like her saw in him, but, hey, you know rich people."

"Stoddard? Elizabeth Stoddard—E. Stoddard?" He remembered seeing the names E. Stoddard in his wallet and P. Stoddard on the money order made out to Betty Hanscombe.

"You know 'em, mister?" Stiles asked, looking back in his mirror at him.

"I don't think so. That's just the second time I heard that moniker tonight. I keep thinking I talked to someone named Stoddard, but I just can't..." he shook his head and sighed. "I can't remember."

They rode on through the streets in silence for about ten minutes. "Hey, buddy, you still alive back there?" Stiles asked.

He raised his head slightly and answered, "Yeah. I just—I just don't feel well, that's all. How much longer is it?"

"Well, it's a little out of the way, but I think we'll have to go over some rocky roads to get there, so, are ya up to it? Sure you don't want a bag or somethin' to breathe into?" Stiles halfheartedly asked.

"No, I think I'll just tough it out." He replied somberly.

"Okay, I'll try to take it slow and dodge as many o' them potholes as I can." Stiles assured him.

"Thanks, but we really need to get there quick. I don't feel like I got much time to waste. Maybe we've taken too long already, I don't know." He looked back in the direction of Collinsport worriedly, thinking about the body of that poor woman he left in the trunk. However, his concentration was interrupted by a sudden jerk of the cab tossing his body back and forth.

Stiles shouted over the loud rocking and beating of rain on the windshield. "Sorry back there, Mac. We should be off this road before you can say Ticonderoga. If you can say Ticonderoga."

For the next five hundred feet, he thought he was going to lose everything. Once the road began to smooth, he sat slumped over and dazed, holding on to his stomach with both hands. After a few winding curves out in the middle of nowhere, the cab began to slow down and park near an old wooden shack. "This is it, Mac. Need me to shine the light for you so's you can see where you're goin'?"

"No," he answered. "I'd rather you didn't. Uh, please, don't go nowhere, alright? I might need to go somewhere else."

Stiles shook his head. "It's your money, mister. I hope you got something besides this $100; it might cost a little extra. My sleep time ain't cheap, ya know."

With a sigh, he mumbled, "Don't worry. There's more."

He opened up the door and stood still to catch his breath and balance. Stepping slowly, he made it to the end of the walkway leading to the creaking boards of the wooden porch steps. He pulled open the storm door and gave the door knob a slight twist. With a loud grinding of the hinges, he slowly opened the door and went inside.

(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)