7

Since the high school kids were exiled from hanging around the diner attached to the Collinsport Inn, they had taken to hanging out at the Blue Whale Bar and Grill. Jamison Collins and his football cronies went there to try out their fake ID's and get beer as they looked at the girls, but Bob Rooney who ran the place knew enough of the kids to not let them get away with anything. Jamison, nevertheless, loved the hamburgers the place made. William loved the crab and appeared here twice a week to get it.

"You're out of the hospital." Jamison Collins, son of Quentin and Maggie Collins, sat next to his cousin and ordered a soda.

"Yeah," William cracked another leg and dropped the white meat into a small container of butter.

"I've been meaning to ask you all day..." Jamison sipped his drink and snatched a few of his cousin's French fries. The jukebox blared with the sound of the Bangles in the background as other teenagers started dancing. "How do you get shot in the stomach while laying sick in your room?"

"Mom said it came through the window, ricocheted off the wall and hit me in the stomach." William continued as Jamison waved good-bye to some of his friends.

"Wouldn't you have a busted window?" Jamison looked at their reflection across the bar.

"I asked her that too." William looked briefly over to his cousin. "She said she'd briefly opened the window. I can't deny it didn't happen. I was out like a light."

"You can't remember anything?"

"Nothing." William dropped more emptied crab legs from his sticky fingers into an extra plate near him.

"Parents." Jamison sighed reached under the bar and took a paper cup with which to pour in soda in to take with him. "Remember when I saw Josette's ghost and your dad insisted it was a reflection of your mom all the way from the main house? They've got screwy stories for everything."

"Yeah," William remembered. "Hang around, we'll cut through the woods together."

"Can't." Jamison slipped off his stool. "I'm meeting Chloe at the movies. See ya!"

"Right." William watched his cousin split on him. They used to be the best of friends when they were little, but the more macho Jamison became, the less they had in common. William had become more cerebral and yearning to get out of town, while Jamison became more athletic and more of a lady's man. His Uncle Quentin and Aunt Maggie had raised him one-way, and he had been raised another way. Faithfully responsible, William looked at his bill and left the money to cover it before he turned round.

"You there..."

He looked up. Sitting in the back of the room, William noticed an old man sitting in the shadows. The light was bouncing off his glasses as if he were a cat as he sipped a brandy. Heavy and bearded with thick sideburns, he grinned oddly toward William as he motioned toward him.

"You're Barnabas Collins' son, aren't you?"

"Yes sir," William reacted with the strict Old World politeness his father had instilled in him. The old man looked familiar, as if he was a face from a dream. "Do I know you?"

"Perhaps," The old man's raspy voice sounded as if motioned to a chair. "Sit down."

William pulled out a chair and nervously sat down. He had been raised to be respectful, but he still wasn't crazy about really old people.

"You don't remember me, do you?" He sipped his brandy as William responded. "My name is Victor Fenn-Gibbon. I'm a very old friend of your father and mother."

"From England?" William hesitantly relaxed. "They never tell me anything of their life there."

"I imagine." Fenn-Gibbon grinned secretly. "At one time, your father and I were practically rivals, but we soon came to an understanding. Just as things came to an understanding, there was an accident, and your father mistakenly thought I was dead."

"I'm sorry." William listened. "I can lead you to the Old House if you like."

"Oh, I'm sure I can still find the way in one form or another." He chuckled oddly. "In the meantime, please take this. I never had a son, I'd like for you to have it."

"Wow," William watched as Mr. Fenn-Gibbon removed a tiepin from his shirt and pinned it to his own flannel shirt. The old man placed his hand on William's and seemed to be staring into his eyes.

"I don't have... anything..." William felt himself inexplicably drifting off as his vision dimmed. He blinked his eyes a few times trying to wake up, but as his vision finally cleared, he gasped with shock. He was looking at himself!