AN: A brief note to acknowledge the Dark Shadows Wiki, which has been a great resource for some of the details.


At the great estate of Collinwood, dark foreboding has become an expected part of life. Even as the residents enjoy a period of normality, specters from the past haunt every corner and threaten the future. The town's favorite son, Joe Haskell, has returned to the estate after a long absence. His return signals a change for the Collins family and its namesake town.


Joe Haskell's return to health—and to Collinwood—seemed to be all anyone in Collinsport wanted to discuss. He'd been back for nearly a week. Although he had not yet visited the town, it was widely known that Dr. Hoffman had brought him back from Windcliff, restored to his old self again. If the rumors were to be believed, he was living in the caretaker's cottage, once occupied by his cousin, Chris Jennings.

But Joe's recovery, which had initially seemed miraculous to Dr. Julia Hoffman, was now a source of frustration to the psychiatrist. After daily sessions for nearly a week, she knew nothing more about Joe's reengagement with the world, than she knew the day she was called to Windcliff. She had tried hypnotherapy, but whether he was resistant, or was one of those rare patients not susceptible to hypnosis, the approach had failed to reveal anything of interest.

She had pondered this that morning as she had a light breakfast, packed her medical bag, and headed on foot toward the caretaker's cottage. She had reviewed her notes of their sessions so many times, that she had committed them to memory verbatim. Then she reviewed the available literature in psychiatric journals—both historical ones that originally informed her work—and the latest developments in the use of hypnotherapy. Today she was armed with an adjunct to her preferred treatment modality—one she felt certain would lower the barriers she was encountering and yield the answers she sought.

When she arrived at the cottage, Joe was waiting. His bearing screamed impatience. He opened the door before she knocked, and ushered her in with a perfunctory greeting. Since his return to the estate, he and Julia had rearranged the furniture in the cottage's small sitting room to mimic that of a treatment room at Windcliff—the armchair was kitty-cornered to the small sofa. A small end-table occupied the space between. It was there that Julia placed her medical bag. Then she removed her coat and scarf and prepared to go to work.

In the days since Joe was released into her care, Julia had noticed a change in the young man, but she had struggled to name it. He'd generally been affable and easy-going, but since his return to Collinwood, his moods shifted quickly and without explanation. It wasn't unexpected—dark moods, excitability, and irritability—were all expected from someone who had experienced what he had. But there was something more. Julia felt sure of it. She hoped to elicit it under hypnosis.

Joe took a seat on the sofa and waited.

"So, how are you today, Joe?" Julia began in a tone cultivated by years of working with psychiatric patients.

"Ready to get back to my life, Dr. Hoffman. How much longer do I have to wait?" His tone was surprisingly aggressive to Julia's way of thinking.

"As I told you yesterday, Joe, I need to better understand your recovery, and you need to be prepared for the reaction of others to your return," she told him in a measured tone. "Sit back—relax."

Joe sat back on the small sofa, and assumed a posture he hoped would convey a sense of relaxation that he didn't feel.

Julia opened her medical bag and took out a hypodermic needle and small vial. Holding the vial in one hand, she inserted the needle and drew a dose of the liquid into the syringe. She gave the syringe a small squirt and turned back to Joe, syringe in hand.

Joe's eyes widened. "Wait, what's that?" he demanded.

Julia had found an article describing some success with using a mild muscle relaxer as an adjunct to hypnotherapy in resistant patients. She thought it might be the key that had eluded her. "It's a new treatment I'd like to try," she began. "This type of therapy is about being able to explore difficult or painful memories and experiences, in a safe setting. This," she said indicating the hypodermic needle, "will help you relax, and I hope, access those memories."

He caught her wrist with unexpected force. "No! I don't want that. In fact, I don't want any more treatment. I just want my old life back."

"I'm just trying to prepare you for that, Joe—for the changes that have taken place since you've been away at Windcliff, for the things people will think and say about you."

Joe stood and paced away from her. "I don't see how this is preparing me for anything. It's just delaying the inevitable. I've lived here my entire life—I know what people in Collinsport are thinking and saying about me, but I can't change that by hiding here. I'm done with your so-called treatment, Dr. Hoffman."

His tone was harsh, and surprised Julia. "Joe …" she began.

"I'm done Dr. Hoffman," he continued sharply. "I want to speak to Maggie and I want my job at the cannery back."

Now Julia felt she'd regained her footing. He might reject the treatment she was providing, but she still had information he'd need. "All right, Joe. I can't force you to continue, but you're ending treatment against my advice … and there are a few things you should know."


"So, have you seen him yet?" Carolyn was looking particularly pert and put together, Maggie thought, especially given the early hour.

"No, not yet. You?" Maggie responded.

Carolyn poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Maggie. The two women took a seat across from one another in the small family dining room of the estate's Great House. "No. Julia says it's part of his treatment. Given all the time he spent in isolation, that too much too soon might overwhelm him."

"Actually, it suits me fine, Carolyn. I'm nervous about seeing him again."

Carolyn reached across the table, took Maggie's hand, and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

Maggie continued, "It's Amy I'm most concerned about. With Chris …" She searched for a suitable euphemism for abandoning your young sister, "away, Joe is her only relative. I know she's aching to see him again."

"Poor Amy," Carolyn said sympathetically. "Life really has dealt her a bad hand."

"Well, at least she has us. Speaking of which, I really should get back to her and David. They're in the library working on an essay, but I needed a mid-morning pick-me-up," Maggie said, indicating the coffee.

"Another late night?" Carolyn asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

A deep flush rushed from Maggie's décolletage to the roots of her dark hair. "Really Carolyn!" They rose and Maggie removed their cups from the table to the sideboard. "You look very nice," she commented, happy to turn the conversation away from how she'd spent her night. "Special plans today?" she asked. Her friend was wearing a suit she'd never seen before—a deep green jacket over a matching, pleated mini-skirt.

"Actually, I'm Mother's proxy at the hospital board meeting today. She had something urgent to attend to in Bangor, although I suspect this is all part of her plan to groom me to take over her role on the board."

Maggie chuckled sympathetically, as the two young women left the dining room and headed to the foyer. Once there, Carolyn retrieved her handbag and headed toward the door. "So will I see you when I get back?" Carolyn asked over her shoulder.

"That depends on what's on the hospital board agenda," Maggie replied with a smile. She went on, "I've been trying to head home as soon as lessons are over."

"Things are certainly different now that you're a married woman, Maggie," were Carolyn's parting words.

Maggie allowed herself a moment of rueful reflection. "You've no idea," she said under her breath, to herself.


By early afternoon, Maggie was as antsy for lessons to be over as David and Amy. Still, she exercised some discipline and made her young charges complete a set of math drills before wrapping up for the day. When she suggested they end the day with a walk in the woods, it was met with expected enthusiasm.

Maggie was content to allow the kids to run ahead and set the pace and the direction. She found herself observing them and their interactions. She noticed the way that David naturally dominated Amy. He led the way; she followed. When they bickered, it was David who settled the matter, and his perspective that prevailed. She thought about how Amy must feel her dependence on the Collins family, with her own family in a state of disarray.

Perhaps Carolyn was right. Attending school in town might help level the disparity between the two, and teach each of them social skills that would serve them well. David, of course, would always be a Collins. But for Amy, meeting other children her own age might boost her confidence.

Now Maggie noticed that they'd rambled further than she'd intended. She called to David and Amy to turn back—her voice carrying on the light, afternoon breeze. David turned back and ran past her, smiling and carefree. Amy doubled back too, but slowed to join Maggie. The girl's young face conveyed worries beyond what any child should have to endure.

Amy asked, "Do you think we could go by the cottage on our way back?"

"I'm sorry, Amy," Maggie began. She put her arm around Amy's shoulders. "Julia—Dr. Hoffman thinks it's too soon for Joe to have visitors. I'm sure she knows how much you want to see him, and she'll let us know."

"You want to see him too. Don't you, Maggie?" Amy's eyebrows drew together to punctuate the question.

The fact that she was genuinely happy that Joe had recovered enough to come home made it easy for her to respond, "Of course I do, but we have to follow Dr. Hoffman's advice. After all, she's his doctor and knows what's best."

Now the path back to the Great House loomed ahead. David had already arrived there and followed it out of their line of sight.

"Everything will work out," Maggie said reassuringly. "Now, why don't you run along and catch up to David. I'll be right behind you." She gave Amy's shoulder a small squeeze and then a pat to send her on her way.

Maggie watched the girl scramble down the path calling David's name. She put her hands in the pockets of her jacket, and followed them at a deliberate pace. When she arrived in the foyer, she found that David and Amy had waited for her. As she was taking off her jacket, she told them, "Why don't you go upstairs and wash up?"

David pulled a face, and said in a sarcastic tone, "If we have to …"

In contrast, Amy beamed, "Yes, Maggie," as she headed to the stairs.

Maggie could hear David say, "Suck up," as he joined Amy. She started to reprimand him, but was interrupted when the drawing room phone trilled loudly. David would have to wait. She sighed and went to answer the phone.

"Hello."

A long moment elapsed before she heard his voice. "Maggie, is that you?"

"Joe?" was her stunned reaction.

"Yes, it's me. It's so good to hear your voice again, Maggie."

After another long moment, she said, "I'm … I'm just so surprised. Julia said ... "

He broke in, "She released me from care today."

"I see. You must be doing better."

"Yes, I am, and the first thing I wanted to do was speak to you."

"Me?" She responded as though the idea never occurred to her.

"I need to speak to you, but not like this. Can you meet me?"

Maggie looked at her watch. Lessons were done for the day, and she would soon be heading home. She felt a pang of guilt as she said, "I could meet you in half an hour. Is that okay?"

"It's better than okay. I can't wait to see you, Maggie. Usual place?"

"Usual place," she said affirmatively.


"Thanks for meeting me, Maggie," Joe said as he approached the spot on the bluffs where they would often meet—what seemed a lifetime ago when they were engaged. Maggie was already there, looking out at the restless sea.

"Of course. I would have come by the cottage when you first got back, but I thought it best to wait until Julia gave the okay. You look well," she added awkwardly, unsure of what to say under the circumstances. And then, realizing how it might be interpreted, color stained her cheeks.

He either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a step toward her and reached out as though to caress her cheek. "Please don't! I'm married now." She took a step backward away from him, and all at once realized how close she was to the bluff's edge.

"I'm sorry, Maggie. I didn't mean anything by it. I … I just thought we'd find our way back to each other … after everything that happened. I thought you were the one constant—something I could count on."

"No, I'm sorry. I overreacted. It's just that I didn't want to give you the wrong idea, and meeting here …" she gestured with her hand.

"In our spot," he finished for her. His expression hardened. "Julia told me you're married … to a Collins." He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. They instinctively curled into tight fists. He turned away from her.

"Quentin Collins," she said.

"I never thought you'd marry one of them," he said turning back to face her.

Maggie's face suffused with confusion. "I don't understand. I thought you liked the Collins family. At one time, everyone thought you and Carolyn might get together, and it was Mrs. Stoddard who helped …" Here she hesitated.

"Go on," he prompted. "Helped me overcome my catatonic depression," he spat in a bitter tone.

"Yes," she said, still confused by this change in him.

His expression softened, and he once again looked like the Joe Haskell Maggie had always known—warm and caring, with an easy smile. "Of course, I'll always care for Mrs. Stoddard and Carolyn—Roger and David too. It's just that I don't know Quentin … I guess that's what I meant."

"He's a good man, Joe. He loves me and I love him. I wouldn't have settled for anything less," she told him, though the recent difficulties in their marriage crept unbidden into her mind.

"Then I look forward to meeting him, Maggie. I hope we can all be friends."

"I'd like that too."

An awkward silence ensued, before Maggie said, "Well, I should be getting home."

"Julia told me that you're fixing up the old Peabody farm," Joe said as they turned away from the bluffs and back toward the woods. "You always were intrigued by that old place."

"Yeah, I really love it." Maggie allowed herself an unguarded moment.

"And Quentin? Does he love it too?"

"No, but he knows how much I love it ... " she began. The moment it escaped her lips, she regretted having said it. It was something she might say to Carolyn, but not to Joe, not now. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He's a lucky man."

In that moment, he sounded like the Joe, Maggie knew so well. Yet, on the whole, he was different. "So, what was it like?" she asked on impulse.

"What was what like?" He seemed perplexed, then realized what she meant. "Oh." He grew thoughtful and serious. "Well, you know."

"No, I don't. I still don't know exactly what happened to me. I still have no memory of it," she admitted.

"Whereas I remember everything. But it was like I was trapped inside my own mind. I wanted to break out, but I lacked the will … the energy … the perseverance …"

"That must have been awful for you," she said softly.

"It was," his tone matched hers.

"Do you remember what caused you to … I mean, what caused it?" she ventured gently.

"I don't want to talk about it right now, but I'll never forget it." Then he added, "But I'm back now, and wanting to make up for lost time."

There was something in his tone, in his way of expressing himself—something that hadn't been there before. Maggie couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she was sure of it. He'd changed. Of course he has, she mentally chastised herself. It's only natural after what he's been through.

They walked in silence for a time, until Maggie slowed her steps. "This is the path I take back to the farm," she said.

"Thanks again for meeting me, Maggie. I don't suppose your husband would be pleased to know we were meeting like this," he tried to play it off lightly.

Maggie silently agreed, which was why she had no intention of telling her husband that she was the first person her ex-fiancé sought out. Instead she said, "And when will you see Amy?"

"Amy?" he asked as though the thought never occurred to him.

Maggie smiled, "Your cousin, Amy. Brown hair, about this tall," she gestured with her hand.

"Of course, I plan to see Amy, but I just got released from Julia's care today," he snapped irritably. Seeing her surprised expression, he added, "I'm sorry, Maggie. I'm just tired." He went on, speaking in a rush of words, "I just want everything to get back to normal. Maybe it was too much, too soon." He took a retreating step toward the woods.

"Goodbye, Maggie."

"Joe," she started, but he was gone—taking long strides and retreating into the woods in the direction of the cottage. Maggie stood for several moments watching his figure until it disappeared into a thicket of trees. Then she turned toward the farm, her mind aswirl with concern.


Why? Joe asked himself again and again as he made his way through the woods. Why hadn't he taken her hand in his? Why hadn't he kissed her and reminded her of the life they planned together—the life they could have together—the life he was trying to reclaim. He'd been too passive. It was not a good start; it was not the start he'd envisioned.

He reached the junction of two paths—one that led back to the cottage; the other that led toward the Collinsport Road—toward town. He could return to the cottage to regroup, to wait for Julia to return with another hypodermic needle full of heaven knew what, or … or he could go into town and take another step toward reclaiming his life. The decision was made. He needed a drink and where better than the Blue Whale.

But now he found his energy waning—too much to walk into town. He must return to the cottage to retrieve Chris's car. Julia would not approve, but then she was no longer his keeper. He was free—he would do as he pleased.

Once inside the cottage, he went at once to the small desk in the main sitting room. He knew from long acquaintance, that Chris kept the spare car key there. He opened the top drawer and retrieved the key. He smiled and turned toward the door, but found himself suspended for a moment.

Turning back to the desk, he opened the second drawer. It was there that he had put the box. He had asked Miss Pritchett if he could take it with him when he left Windcliff; she had graciously agreed—more than agreed, she saw it as an aid to his "ongoing recovery and restoration to health." Joe laughed aloud at the thought. He ran a finger over the inlaid design on the box's lid. Though he mocked her for it, Miss Pritchett was right, the box was important to him. He slammed the drawer shut and pulled himself away.

Later, he headed down the Collinsport Road. The freedom of being behind the wheel again felt incredibly good. The same way food tasted better, and his bed was more comfortable—everything was more vibrant, more satisfying now. He smiled at the thought, and pressed the accelerator even more. The car sped down the road. Though the air was cool, he rolled down the window, rested his arm there, and let the air rush over it. He relished the speed and the freedom, until his eyes found the rearview mirror and the lights it reflected.

He pulled to the shoulder of the road and waited. A moment later, a familiar face appeared at the window, ticket book in hand. "May I see your license and registration?" the man began in rote recitation. Then, upon seeing the car's driver, he continued, "Joe? Joe Haskell? We'd heard you were back. It's good to see you, son."

Joe put on his most sincere smile. "Sheriff Patterson, it's good to see you too. Not the best circumstances though," he added.

The sheriff nodded his agreement. "Where're you headed?"

"Into town for the first time since I got back," Joe answered, as he reached into his pocket.

Sheriff Patterson waved him off. "Don't bother with the license and registration. I know you well enough without it. I can understand you're excited to get back into the swing of things," the sheriff began.

"You have no idea," Joe interjected.

The sheriff continued, "Maybe not, but I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, Joe, but do me a favor and slow down. The speed limit on this road hasn't changed since you've been away," he added as he flipped his ticket book shut. "See you around town sometime. Take it easy, Joe," he said in conclusion then made his way back to the squad car.

Joe turned over the engine, pulled back onto the road, and made his way into Collinsport, staying scrupulously within the posted speed limit.


When Joe arrived at the Blue Whale that afternoon, it was all but empty. It was too early for the cannery and mill workers to be there for an after-work drink, and far too early for the regulars who frequented the bar in the evening to socialize and unwind. One lonely patron was drinking at a corner table—his back to the door.

Ed, the Blue Whale's owner and barkeep, emerged from the storeroom at the sound of the door. "What can I …" He began, and then seeing who it was, continued "Joe! Joe Haskell—I heard you were back in Collinsport. Welcome back. What can I get you? Still a bourbon man?"

"Bourbon sounds good." Looking around, Joe said, "I guess I'm too early to catch up with the guys from the cannery."

Ed placed the drink in front of Joe on the bar. "Yeah, most of the guys won't be rolling in for another hour or so. Not your friend, Jerry, though."

Joe took a long, appreciative swig of bourbon. "Oh?"

"Jerry's not working at the cannery anymore. He's got his own boat."

"What?"

"Yeah, not long after …" the bartender began, and then continued, "well, not long ago, Peg's mother died and left them a small nest-egg. They used it to buy that boat he's always wanted."

"We always wanted." Joe corrected him.

"Oh, that's right," Ed said, oblivious to the change in Joe's demeanor. "You two were planning to pool your resources and buy a boat. I remember the two of you down at the end of the bar, your heads together, figuring out the finances and looking at ads for boats for sale."

"I remember that too," Joe said with thinly disguised bitterness in his tone.

Ed went on affably, "Well, he doesn't get in here often anymore, and when he does, he arrives late and doesn't stay long."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well, you know how it is … he's out with the boat, then he has to tend to the day's catch, and ready the boat for the next day."

"I'd really like to catch up with him. Where do you think I can find him?" Joe asked.

"This time of day—probably down at the docks. Peggy's Pearl it's called."

Joe drained his glass. "I think I'll head over there now," he said, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

"This one is on me," Ed told him.

"Thanks, Ed."

"You should come back later when all the guys are here. I know it's tough, but I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

"Sure will. Maybe tomorrow." With that, Joe left the Blue Whale and headed on foot to the Collinsport docks in search of his old friend, Jerry Gerse.


Joe asked the first dockworker he saw where he could find Jerry's boat. He recognized the man by sight, but not by name. Like the town itself, the docks were small enough that most people knew most other people. The older man pointed out at once where Peggy's Pearl would be docked.

Joe found it in short order. Jerry was hosing off the deck. "Permission to come aboard," Joe called loud enough to be heard above the sounds of the docks at work.

Jerry turned and beamed his greeting. "Permission granted. If it isn't Joe Haskell! I heard you were back. What took you so long to come see your good friend, Jerry?" he asked as Joe climbed aboard.

"Oh, you know doctors," Joe murmured vaguely.

"Yeah," Jerry responded in kind.

Once onboard, Joe noticed a young deck hand, whose face bore the ravages of his youthful hormones. The young man acknowledged him with a curt nod.

Jerry said, "Tommy is helping me out after school." Jerry turned to the young man. "We're pretty much done here. Why don't you take off?" The young man jumped at the chance, and quickly began removing his work apron and boots. Jerry turned off the hose and retracted it. Then he pulled off his own apron, boots, and work gloves, leaving them on deck. To Joe, he said, "Let's go in the cabin."

Joe followed him inside the small cabin. Jerry pulled out a bottle of bourbon and two plastic cups from the small cupboard. He poured them each a drink and they sat at the small table that served for all purposes. He raised his cup to Joe. "It's good to have you back," he said by way of a toast.

Joe took a sip, as the occasion called for it. They drank in silence for a moment. Joe noticed the gentle pitch and rock motion of the boat. It should have been his.

Jerry broke the uncomfortable silence by saying, "It's everything we thought it would be, Joe." It was unintentional salt in the suddenly festering wound. "We had no way of knowing that Peg's mother was not just a shrew, she was a miser as well."

Jerry had expected Joe to join in gently mocking his late mother-in-law, but instead Joe said, "Worked out pretty well for you."

Jerry colored. "Yeah. It was Peg who insisted we use the money to buy the boat, though. It's our legacy for Jerry, Jr." He pulled out his wallet and showed Joe a picture of his infant son. "You remember Peg was expecting."

"How could I forget? That's why we put our plans on hold," Joe said in a flat tone. "And look at you now? You have everything we ever wanted." Then he softened his demeanor. He finished his drink and rose. He extended his hand to Jerry, in an unspoken gesture of friendship. They shook on it.


Jerry Gerse had grown up near Collinsport. When he was old enough, he'd taken a job at the Collinsport Cannery, and married his high-school sweetheart. He'd worked side-by-side with Joe Haskell, and over the years they'd become good friends. They shared the same dream—they dreamt of owning their own boat, and being their own men.

It was Joe's idea to pool their money to reach that goal more quickly. Over drinks at the Blue Whale, Joe suggested that if they bought a boat together, they could finance a second boat with the profit. Joe had laughed and said that before long they would have a fleet to rival that of the Collins family itself.

Jerry knew that Joe was joking about that, but he also knew that Joe had the brains and the will to make good things happen for both of them. When Joe was promoted to checker at the cannery, both thought they were on their way.

Then Peg told him she was pregnant. Rather than saving to finance his shared dream with Joe, their baby must be their priority. He felt terrible the day he had to tell Joe, but as always, Joe had taken the news well. He'd sincerely congratulated his friend and put his dream on a longer timetable.

By the time Peg's mother had passed away and left them the money that financed his boat, Joe was in no condition to join him in the business—and even if he had been, he no longer needed a partner to finance his dream. He had always believed that Joe, with his head for business, would manage the books and run the business end of things, and he would manage the boat. But with Joe out of the picture, Peg had stepped up, doing the books when the baby slept.

He felt guilty about how things had worked out—terribly, inexplicably guilty about it. Often, he would think that if he had fallen in with Carolyn Stoddard and her crowd, instead of Joe, and had come to the attention of the Collins family, and fallen prey to their curse, it might be him who was taken away to Windcliff Sanitarium and Joe who managed to buy a boat and start a business—maybe marry Maggie and start a family of his own.

Peg had dismissed his feelings, telling him that he had nothing to feel guilty about, and things just work out the way they do. Joe had had a bad break, and Jerry had had some good luck. It was as simple as that. He wanted to believe her, but each day as he went to work on Peggy's Pearl, he felt like he had somehow stolen Joe's dream and was living a life he didn't quite deserve.


"Sorry, I sounded … oh, I don't know … a little jealous," Joe said as he released Jerry's hand. "Sorry, Jer. I didn't mean anything by it. All I want, now that I'm back, is to rebuild my life."

"I understand. I'd want the same if I were in your shoes. I'm sorry, Joe. I know how it must seem—like I got everything you ever wanted. I can't tell you how bad I feel that things worked out this way. You deserve better."

"Think no more about it, Jer. Maybe someday I'll be as fortunate as you." Joe made his way to the cabin door, steadying himself against a gentle pitch to the left, and a roll back to the right. "I guess I'll be seeing you around," he said as he took his leave. Back on shore, he gazed for a few long moments at the Peggy's Pearl. Then he walked back up the docks toward his car, whistling a carefree tune. It was good to be back.