Disclaimer: Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production and not mine
CHAPTER 35: THE BLAZING EXPERIMENT
With an icy chill assaulting his face, and the drone of a foghorn sounding off in the distance, Joe wearily opened his eyes.
He was greeted by the familiar but translucent face of Millicent, who nestled beside him.
Maybe he was just desensitized by everything he'd been through. Strange as it was, the first thought to occur to him upon his waking was that he could recognize Millicent without even thinking of Carolyn.
Of course, Carolyn is not translucent, Joe thought. And then there are all those curls.
"Good morning, Joe," Millicent said brightly. "How did you sleep?"
From where he lay, Joe took an assessing look around at their surroundings. They were in a fishing shack on the docks. Much like the one he found his mistress in. A feeble blanket, along with his coat, was the only protection Joe had from the cold.
The side where Millicent lay was noticeably colder than the other. But he didn't mind.
"I slept better than I do at my mistress' place." Joe lifted himself up to a sitting position.
"You must tread carefully, Joe," Millicent warned. "Trask, that phantom from last night, is on a rampage and is hunting you and your mistress." She considered for a moment. "Oh, and I suppose that chivalrous Irish gentleman, but I'm afraid I do not know his name."
Joe got up to his feet and peered through a window facing the sea. His eyes widened when he spotted a distant cloud of black smoke, diving fiercely in and out of the icy waters, screaming manically about the Lord and salvation.
"What... who is he?" Joe asked Millicent. "Where did he come from?"
"He is an old foe of my family's," Millicent said, sounding rather guilty. "He thinks he is a man of God and a witch hunter. But he has only ever been the latter, not the former." She dropped her eyes. "I recruited him without my family's knowledge – to save you."
"You what?" Joe balked. "You shouldn't have done that, Millicent."
"I know – he is hunting you now as well," Millicent said distraught. "It was all I could do to move you in here while he is fixated on the water. Nathan has been fooling with him, I think. But with that man, who could ever tell. Regardless, I shall protect you, Joe Haskell. That is the least I can do, since you now have to contend with a phantom, as well as your witch mistress."
"Thank you for that," Joe said sincerely. He couldn't find it within himself to hold Trask against her.
Millicent looked at him, a touched look on her face.
"I need to sneak away from here and get something important." Joe started for the door. "It's in a shed on the Collins grounds."
"Yes, I know what it is," said Millicent. "And where it is. I shall accompany you."
"Thank you, Millicent," Joe replied.
Winter mist billowed around Collinwood. Bracing herself for what would surely be a long and stressful day, Elizabeth found Roger speaking to Mrs. Johnson outside the Great Hall. He was giving her instructions, something to do with the party.
Mrs. Johnson looked as though she was listening intently. Elizabeth knew it was an act. She'd already given her servant her marching orders. Mrs. Johnson would remain primarily in the foyer, greeting guests and taking coats. Neither the maid nor Elizabeth intended for her to interact with the caterers over much.
But the party was nevertheless moving forward.
"Sure, looks to be a big shindig tonight." Bill's voice playfully crept up on Liz.
That earned a smirk from the Grand Dame.
"You know, there was a time you loved parties, Liz."
Elizabeth glanced down to the floor, feeling suddenly bittersweet about her lost, unappreciated youth. Those carefree days were beyond gone now. Time and trials had hardened her considerably. She could never return to that glamour girl she'd been before she met Paul Stoddard and Jason McGuire.
"There is something I need you to do for me," Elizabeth spoke over her shoulder to no one apparent.
"What is that?"
"Watch over me," Elizabeth ordered. "I have a terrible feeling about this party. And not just because I'm a recluse."
The tension was also uneasy in the drawing room. The ghost of Sam Evans glared hatefully at the damn portrait of Quentin Collins.
Josette Collins and Ben Stokes were quietly strategizing in a corner.
"So, have either of you figured out what to do about our magical lisping tramp yet?" Sam spoke up, interrupting the two spirits. "I think we should get creative. I saw a movie once, some horror flick – a guy killed his wife, and she came back and haunted his nightmares. Eventually, she tipped over a lantern by his bed and burnt him to death. Something along those lines could work."
"Ay," Ben said in an intrigued tone.
"We should avoid doing anything reckless," Josette warned. "Petofi can vanquish ghosts."
"What?" Sam said alarmed.
"The Christmas ball is tonight," Josette informed. "I believe Petofi will make an appearance. We will be far safer attacking him on our territory rather than his."
"Ay," Ben said loyally.
"Marvelous," Sam grumbled. "Not only do I have to worry about this vanquishing business, but I also get to float around sober while every blowhard and aristocrat in town drink themselves into a stupor - not fair!"
At the cottage on the Collins grounds, Chris slowly woke up, sleeping in his trusty worn sleeping bag on the floor in front of the fireplace.
While Tom slept on the couch, covered in an Afghan.
The humble sleeping arrangements were due to Amy sleeping in the cottage's only bedroom.
The twin brothers woke up early, folding and placing their bedding in the closet. Chris felt sorry for transients who didn't have their own sleeping bags. His was a God's send.
Tom kept giving Chris apologetic looks, probably feeling guilty for having his brother sleep on the floor.
But Chris didn't mind. He was just thankful for the fire.
The brothers quickly dressed.
"Hey," Tom said a short time later. "I'm going to get us all cinnamon rolls from the bakery in the village."
"Amy will like that," Chris approved.
Tom shrugged on his coat. "I'll be right back. Look after the place."
He went out the door, leaving his brother alone. Chris couldn't help but feel a little awkward. He'd been on his own for so long, even casual conversations felt weird to him now.
About five minutes later, the phone rang. Chris stepped up to the side table and picked up the rotary phone.
"Hello?"
No answer came to him. What more, the ringing didn't stop. It was not coming from the modern model.
"What the..."
Chris turned his attention to the old junker phone that his little sister apparently liked to play with. He hung up the rotary phone.
"... hell?"
He picked up the antique phone, listening into the earpiece.
"Hello, my name is Quentin Collins."
Chris' blood froze like ice.
"To whom am I speaking?"
"Wha – huh?" Chris stammered hopelessly into the receiver.
"To whom am I speaking?" the voice in the phone inquired, unruffled by Chris' verbal trip up.
"Who – who – how," Chris croaked, but managed to find his voice. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"I know who you are," the voice in the phone said unnervingly. "I know your dark little secret."
"What are you even talking about?" Chris' sleep addled brain finally caught up with his mouth.
"You know what I mean," said the voice in the phone. "Those naughty games you play under the moonlight."
At his words, Chris was finally struck dumb.
"Please don't think I judge you harshly. I have a few peculiar nocturnal habits myself."
Chris managed to find his voice again.
"You're crazy! What are you even talking about!" The closeted werewolf felt his tamper rising.
"There it is. We share this special bond, you see."
"Chris!"
The oldest Jennings spun at the voice from behind. Amy had stepped out of the bedroom, looking horrified. Her eyes were glued to the antique phone clutched in her big brother's hand.
"Oh, no! You're talking to him!"
Chris stared at the old phone himself. He was no longer holding it up to his ear. But he could still hear manic laughter echoing out of it. Ultimately finding his sister's needs to be more pressing, Chris hung up the candlestick model and sat it right down with a thud.
"All right, who is Quentin Collins?" he questioned firmly.
"I-I dunno," Amy stammered. "He's just some dark man that lives inside that phone. He's been bugging me and Tom."
"You're not wrong about him being a dark man," Chris remarked.
But he tried to tap down his temper with Amy.
How does he know my secret? his inner voice raged. He said he's a Collins. Is that why Tom is keeping him a secret from me?
"But how in the world did he get this phone to work?"
Amy shrugged. "He's just some old spook."
"Will he be at the party tonight?" Chris asked. How closely is Tom working with the Collinses? Does he know, too?
"I don't know," Amy answered honestly.
"And he's been bugging you and Tom?" Chris pressed.
Amy nodded solemnly.
"Then I'd like to see him," Chris decided.
And force him to tell me what the hell he has to do with my family and how he knows about my curse.
"But can you even find him?" Amy asked.
"I'm sure I'll be able to sniff him out," Chris said confidently.
"But is it a good idea for you to meet him?" Amy asked worriedly.
"We just met, sweetheart," Chris answered without fear. "Now I want to introduce myself."
Heavy fog billowed low around the Old House. A rather sinister atmosphere permeated the basement.
Julia had the ghoul bound to a metal chair as she filled up a syringe. The chair was bolted to the floor and the restraints were bolted to the chair.
Barnabas watched on closely.
Despite the dead serious look the lady doctor wore on her face, the ghoul kept himself cool and collected. He didn't even look uncomfortable. If anything, he outwardly appeared chipper and curious.
"What wonders of science will you bestow upon me today, fair doctor?" he asked with blive confidence.
"Brace yourself, Mr. Stiles," Julia warned. "You will be suffering through excruciating pain."
"Then let's have it," the ghoul gamely welcomed.
Julia pricked his bare arm with the needle. To the ghoul, it felt no different from the other injections she'd inflicted.
At that moment, Willie came scurrying down the basement stairs.
"There ya are," he said, once he spotted the lady doctor and the former vampire.
"Why, dear doctor," the ghoul said condescendingly. "I do not feel any different. Perhaps by excruciating pain, you meant tedious drudgery?"
Julia stoically crossed the room, and without a word, began the laborious process of starting the small kerosene motor she always used to power her various apparatuses.
Willie tried to strike up a conversation with Barnabas, but his once master held up an imperious hand, stalling his once servant.
The ghoul cocked an arrogant eyebrow but remained silent. After a few moments, the various buzzing and whirring devices that cluttered the basement stirred to life. Tesla coils crackled with electricity, as dozens of dials spun chaotically.
With one final glance in the ghoul's direction, the lady doctor grasped a large T-shaped breaker switch and dramatically pulled it upwards. Sharp needles of fire assaulted Stiles' body, as the current coursed through him. The chair had been wired directly to the basement's power grid. His body spasmed uncontrollably, and even Judah had to admit this was unpleasant.
Then something shifted inside of him. Or perhaps the better term would be caught. Boiling heat was spreading inside. And then there was nothing. In an instant, his entire body was engulfed in flames. He quickly melted away on the metal chair.
Willie bore horrified witness to it all, while Barnabas and Julia watched with no emotion.
Julia, ever prepared, used a fire extinguisher to put him out. For a moment, there was nothing on the metal chair but charred bones and black smoldering gore.
After an uncomfortably long moment while no one talked at all, the ghoul repaired himself. To his audience it looked like his body was being remolded out of gore and bone. Before long, a handsome man was once more sitting on the chair, his period clothes intact. He bore no burns, no scars.
Willie couldn't decide if he wanted to throw up or just faint. He'd seen many horrors while being associated with Barnabas. And he hadn't exactly lived like a choir boy before that. But this was the most grotesque piece of violence he'd ever seen.
Barnabas and Julia remained stoic.
"Wha – Wha did ya do, Julia?" Willie stammered.
"What did you inject him with?" Barnabas interjected, looking quite fascinated.
"A flammable cocktail of nearly a dozen different chemicals," Julia replied. "I've been injecting him with the components of this formula over the last two days."
Barnabas nodded, but Willie only gaped at her.
The doctor continued. "My theory was that whatever mystical defense a witch's paranormal powers grant them would be reliant on the perception of their master. Be it the devil or what have you. So, if one wants to kill a witch with science, one must first outsmart their devil."
On the chair, the ghoul didn't look the slightest bit tortured. If anything, he was condescendingly amused.
"Only cattle like you call him that," the ghoul spoke with a pleasant air. "And your arrogance outpaces Caligula. If you think this dog and pony show is anything but a trifle compared to the glories of his court."
Barnabas stared at the test specimen, unnerved by his gumption, considering what he just endured. Still, the former vampire felt that Julia had managed to reveal the ghoul's true face.
"Still, it's quite genius, dear doctor," the ghoul praised. "As long as your injections aren't too harmful on their own, my body's defenses are happy to ignore them. This is evidenced by the fact that I can still get intoxicated like a mortal. So, you deduced that the most efficient way to damage my immortal body would be to inject me with the comparatively less destructive components, one at a time. Relying on your victim's bloodstream to mix your concoction for you. Truly, inspired."
"Exactly," Julia said pointedly. "Then I ignite the compound with electricity."
"Um, Barnabas," Willie awkwardly cut in. "Me and Maggie are headin' out. We hafta be on hand at the Big House tonight."
"Yes, you and Maggie can expect us at the ball," Barnabas told him.
"A-Awight," said Willie. "I guess we'll see ya tonight."
With that, the young man went up the basement stairs as quickly as he could.
"Bye, Willie," the ghoul called up after him.
Once he was gone, Barnabas said to Julia, "This is brilliant. Angelique has been undone by fire more than once. It is her one true fear."
"I have a question," the ghoul cut in. "If you clever pair will be attending the ball tonight, what will become of your dashing captive?"
"You will accompany us," Barnabas told him. "But you will still be restrained. We will keep watch on you and be mindful should Angelique make an appearance."
Maggie waited for Willie in the foyer, already in her coat. When he emerged from the iron door of the basement, she warily asked, "Do I even want to know what's going on down there?"
"Nah, ya really don't," Willie said honestly.
"Thought so." Maggie looked down to the floor. "A huge part of me can't even believe I stayed the night here. The thought of being back at the cottage hurts so much."
Willie laid a gentle touch on her shoulder. "Let's grab a quick breakfast at the bakery. Relax a little before whatever's comin' tonight."
Maggie nodded.
After Willie shrugged on his coat, he and Maggie left the Old House.
Nicholas Blair returned to the house by the sea. He just came back from a nearly fruitless visit to the Evans cottage, wanting to offer Maggie his condolences over her father. But he discovered that Maggie wasn't home. Even her joke of a boyfriend was absent.
That left Nicholas only slightly disappointed. He took the opportunity to sneak into Maggie's room through those lovely French doors. He found a pink hair ribbon among her belongings and snatched it.
It was high time he created a little magic between himself and Maggie.
Nicholas entered the parlor, discovering that his dear "sister" had yet to return. Quite the night for tom-catting damsels it would seem.
Trask soared over the churning black waters near the docks, searching vainly for his elusive quarry.
"Sullied coward! Reveal yourself, fowl devil woman!" the fraudulent reverend bellowed. "You have fled the judgment of God long enough!"
"Wise prisoners have the good sense to behave discreetly after they escape."
At the sound of the patronizing voice, Trask spun around, finding himself facing Joshua Collins.
"So, it is you," Joshua observed. "You have escaped."
"And what shall you do about it?" Trask demanded. "A faded specter untouched by the glory of God even in death."
"Josette Collins wishes to see you," Joshua informed.
On the Collins grounds, Joe trudged to the forgotten shed near the house by the sea. Millicent followed him, watching him retrieve his wand, just as she'd watched him hide it.
"I know you have been practicing witchcraft as of late, Joe Haskell," Millicent said nervously. "And I must know – do you feel any... wickeder?"
"Are you asking if I'm becoming my mistress?" the budding wizard queried the ghost.
"Yes," Millicent admitted.
Joe laid his eyes on the wand in his grip. "Nicholas Blair told me that only good magic can come from this wand. I don't want to be like him – or – her." He finished that last part uncomfortably.
"That is wonderful," Millicent said relived. "But that terrible Trask is bound to smite anyone related to witchcraft. In life, he didn't care if the innocent suffered as well."
Joe raised his wand. "If push comes to shove, I guess I have this to fall back on."
Millicent stared at him with a conflicted expression. "And I shall watch over you like an angel."
Joe bestowed her with an actual warm smile. "Yeah, you do."
The glow around Millicent reddened like a rosy blush.
Outside Collinwood, Cassandra, bundled up in her singed red coat, her head covered in its hood, stared up at the castle-like mansion.
Her surprisingly helpful new accomplice, Jason McGuire, was recuperating in one of the forgotten old cottages dotting the grounds. She had to brew a potion to heal the worst of the burns. Cassandra seldom resorted to potions and the like. A witch of her standing generally relied on spells.
That her magic couldn't repair the damage confirmed a suspicion she'd had since yesterday.
Someone has been tampering with my soul, Cassandra thought. Barnabas must be vandalizing my portrait somehow. Oh, but like all of his 'bright' ideas, there is a real fatal flaw.
Cassandra felt the air around Collinwood. The barrier Josette and her cohorts placed to ward her off.
She could now easily endure its repelling force.
This is what comes of your tampering, Barnabas. Mentally reducing me to little more than a mortal. And with so many mortals coming and going, how could your precious barrier tell one from the other? After all, if they didn't want a wholly evil witch coming inside their manor, then my current state should suffice.
Oh, my dear Barnabas, we shall meet again tonight.
The thought of seeing him at a glamours affair in Collinwood made her heart flutter, even as it seethed with resentment.
Next Chapter: The Start of the Festivities